


Creation Song of Ilúvatar

by Fadesintothewest



Category: TOLKIEN J. R. R. - Works, The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Drama, F/M, Gen, Romance, Third Age
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-06-05
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-14 00:48:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 27
Words: 102,734
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/830767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Fadesintothewest/pseuds/Fadesintothewest
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Story of the Royal Family of Mirkwood and a young woman who appears mysteriously and has a great vantage point from which to observe both the light and dark moments of life in Mirkwood. Explores Silvan/Avari culture. In my mind and in this story the wood elves are what outsiders would describe as feral, but also joyful despite the great losses they endure, a glimpse of what we see in The Hobbit.</p><p>I originally posted this over 10 years ago. This version is re-edited. My attention to details writing within and drawing from Tolkien's universe has evolved. There are things I could have significantly changed, but I decided to leave the heart of the story as this was my first fanfic attempt.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. What's in a name

**Author's Note:**

> I DO NOT OWN LEGOLAS. HE IS A CREATION OF THE MASTER TOLKIEN AS ARE MANY OF THE PLACES AND NAMES MENTIONED HERE ON OUT.
> 
>  
> 
> \-------------------------------------------  
> *This is an updated, reworked and edited version of this story that I originally posted in 2005. I am leaving the old story up, though, for posterity’s sake!
> 
> A/N: The setting of this story is AU as I will introduce several OCs and cultures not found in The Lord of the Rings. This story will *attempt* to engage canon as much as possible where appropriate, and I will definitely appreciate feedback on accuracy or where canon can be implemented. I am by no means a Tolkien scholar, but I try my best to research my stories. My hope is that the work will be entertaining enough! Enjoy!
> 
> \-------------------------------------------
> 
> Setting pre FOTR

**********  
Chapter 1: WHAT’S IN A NAME

There before him were the enchanted gates—the Great Gates that led into his father’s keep. He couldn’t help but smile as he thought of the reception he would soon be getting. Legolas was returning from a patrol in Mirkwood. Indeed the Shadow and all its fell creatures were growing at an alarming rate. He had been out for a season hunting spider and orc, and was looking forward to coming home. 

The Forest River flowed swiftly before him. He paused before stepping on the bridge, knelt on the ground placing his hand on the moss-covered path, lightly treaded upon by elven steps, greeting his home as all wood elves do when too long from their home. Under his hand he felt the settling of the earth, the roots of the mighty trees shifting, the pulsing of the river waters, and the gentle whispers of the moss, the grass, and flowers that skipped upon the surface. He could feel the warmth of life—the warmth of baby birds nestled beneath their mother’s breast, the rumbling of hooves on the ground, and the delicate patterns of insects and fish.

Breathing in the smells of his home, Legolas whispered, eyes closed, “Eru Bera sen bar/ Eru protect this dwelling place.” 

In reply, ennor radiated energy, felt like heat rising through Legolas’ arm, enveloping him in a warm embrace. The strange magic of the wood elves was strong here and Shadow had not overcome Arda’s radiance. As he stood the warmth of ennor soothed away his worries. The smile on his lips was less tense, worn more easily. 

Across the bridge rose the tree-covered hill in which the Great Halls of the Elven King had been carved out. Indeed, on days such as these—where the Shadow was distant—if one was traveling along the Enchanted Road, the trees would be more alive as the Silvan people chose to keep to their tree dwellings. 

As Legolas crossed the bridge he was surprised that no one had come to greet him. That is that no little one had rushed to him. Where is Lotórie, Legolas pondered. He had expected his little niece to come running to meet him. She had an uncanny sense, even for an elf, of knowing when Legolas would come home from his ventures abroad. He had expected that as soon as he stepped foot on the bridge, a little bundle of energy would pounce upon him, hoping to be twirled around by a most happy Legolas. Lotórie was the daughter of Legolas’ brother Laurenor, and was very much the little light of his life- of his family. Legolas found himself waiting for the little elf to pounce on him. Where are you my little flower? He sighed loudly with disappointment when she did not materialize. 

Caught off guard by his response, he chuckled at himself, “that was unexpected.” He walked towards the gates hoping that inside he would find what he was looking for, and as he approached them he couldn’t help but think of the legacy his mother had left his father and his siblings. 

So much in a name, thought Legolas. His mother had put so much thought into each of their names. Laurenor, Lotórie’s father, was named in remembrance of Lothlórien, the land of gold. Their mother always remembered her home, where she was raised, as a land of gold, blessed with the majesty of the mallorn trees. Legolas couldn’t help but think of his mother, so close to his heart, but yet so far from him.

Nyére, Legolas silently called out to his mother, you were so aptly named sorrow. Legolas could never fully heal the wound that his mother’s death left. Nae, not even her parents could get passed their pain. Their grief had run so deep that they sailed to the undying lands, seeking solace from the torment their daughter’s death left them. I had so little time with you. These thoughts often burdened Legolas, though he was thankful for the time he had with her. While memories of his naneth brought him sorrow, they also brought him much joy.  
Remembering those happier moments brought a smile to Legolas’ face.

Oh Legolas, your name is perfectly acceptable and beautiful! Remember you are my little green leaf, named for the gloriousness of this Greenwood that shall endure! What little one, you still hate it… Oh I see your brother has a better name… Oh gold you say, you wanted gold in your name too? Oh my little one, you have heard to many tales from the Men of Lake-town. The gold they speak of is not the gold of my home. You see lass, the gold of my childhood is like the green of your trees! Gold is the color of the leaves of the mallorn of my home, like green is the color of the oaks and beech of our Greenwood.

Indeed Thranduil and Nyére named their last child almost as a challenge to the shadow that enveloped their lands that gave rise to the name Mirkwood. Although Legolas had been born before the time of the watchful peace, and lived through those peaceful times, he carried a pale sadness with him. Yet he was the light of Mirkwood. In fact, and unbeknownst to him, Legolas’ youthful light was a beacon of hope for the Eldar who tarried on Middle Earth.

As Legolas approached the palace, Thranduil watched from his perch in the trees above the Great Gates. He could see the trace of sadness that graced his youngest son’s face. Ahh Nyére, I wish you were here to see how our son has grown. Our little green lassë has sprouted from the little nymph he once was. Thranduil couldn’t help but laugh at the memories of his youngest son. Legolas was always getting in and out of trouble as a child, and during those times when his son was a handful, Thranduil would remind himself of the knowledge his wife had shared with him concerning Legolas.

Nyére was gifted with an incredible gift of foresight, a gift—it was said—from her parents. Her father, a dark-haired Silvan from Lothlórien, and her mother, a Noldo, one of the many who settled in Lothlórien with the Lady Galadriel, were both intensely thoughtful yet light-hearted Elves. Thranduil’s marriage to Nyére healed the alliance between Lórien and Greenwood, which had been weakened by the past’s troubles during the time of his father Oropher. But this was not the reason he fell for his wood spirit. 

Thranduil first laid eyes, no heard his wife—the sound of her laughter, like the silver of Elbereth’s stars glistening in the night skies—during a visit to his home of old in Lindon. When he approached her, Nyére’s eyes sparkled and she let out a gasp, announcing, herven nín, my husband! And as she proclaimed it Thranduil knew it was true!

Yet Nyére’s gift remained a mystery to Thranduil and whenever his curiosity got the better of him and he would ask about it Nyére would simply laugh and lay a kiss on her husband’s cheek.

***  
On the day of Legolas’ conception Nyére had whispered to Thranduil, “Our son will be strong, but I sense his path on these lands will be hard. Yet I feel hope. Somehow this life that I hold is tied to the making right of this world. Our little one carries the future of the Eldar.”

“Nyére, of course the gift of a child is wondrous, but do you feel such a presence from this little one? I would dare admonish you for speaking as any expecting mother would, but I trust your words,” Thranduil replied, amazement and love filling his being.

Nyére threw her head back and laughed, “Ai, yes our son is the most special being created this day on Arda.” 

Suddenly her countenance was serious, “and to the music of the Ainar is added the unique voice of our little Greenleaf. Legolas, you are thus so named, strong and vibrant as the trees of Greenwood, and eternally bright as the light that shone from the trees of silver and gold.” Nyére felt her husband’s hand softly touch her belly.

Thranduil spoke to his son “Yes, Legolas, you shall be as a light evermore and your voice will be both luminous and lovely. Meleth nîn, my love, you have blessed me with the holiest privilege of our kind, to be father to two, now three wonderful children. The Valar have truly blessed us! 

***  
Thranduil was brought back into the present by the shouts he heard from below, “Hir nîn! Are you so lost in thought you cannot welcome home your own son?”

“No, of course not Legolas, it is good to have you home! I have a feeling what you have been looking for will soon make its presence known.” Thranduil laughed as he heard giggles come from behind him. He turned his head towards where the giggles emanated, and with the sound of mirth in his voice, said, “Go Lotórie, your uncle is looking for you. I think he is rather upset you didn’t go meet him at the gate.”

“Ada!!!” Lotórie, squealed, “I wanted to give uncle Legolas a bigger surprise! I want him to think I forgot about meeting him at the gate. He will be so mad.” 

Lotórie was very sure that her plan would make her uncle happy, and she had after all a bigger surprise- the arrow she fletched herself. It had been a task, hand winding the thread to bind the feathers onto the shaft of her arrow. The arrow itself was not the best quality, but Lotórie insisted that she had to learn how to do it so she could impress her uncle Legolas. After all everyone knew that of all the warriors, not only was he the best archer, but when it came to mending and making their own arrows, Uncle was the very best. Mirkwood had elves who dedicated themselves to making bows and arrows and their craftsmanship could not be surpassed by the warriors, but all warriors did indeed need to learn the art for themselves. When out on patrols or in battle, warriors had to mend and make their own arrows, being so far from the master craftsmen.

Thranduil looked at the crooked arrow held tightly in Lotórie’s little hands, and spoke lovingly, “Well I think you will surely surprise your uncle, but you must run to him quick! I thought I saw him a little sad when you didn’t meet him at the gate.” 

The look of concern that flashed on Lotórie’s face was endearing. Thranduil patted her bobbing head as she rushed down the tree to greet her uncle, arrow in tow. Thranduil thought to himself, So much in a name … Ahhh Lotórie, my blossoming flower, so aptly named for every moment you live, revealing new beauty, like a Niphredil blooming on the mallorns of Lórinand.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
ELVISH

Naneth- mother  
lassë- leaf (quenyan), lass (sylvan)  
Ãrda- Middle Earth  
Meleth nîn- My love   
Hir nîn- My Lord  
Lórinand-LothLórien


	2. Chapter Two:  Of Surprises and Arrows

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Thranduil turned around and looked down to Legolas, winking his eye. Legolas was about to run through the gates, but Thranduil called to him, “Legolas, you just might want to wait where you are at.”

Creation Song of Ilúvatar

Chapter Two: Of Surprises and Arrows

 

I DO NOT OWN LEGOLAS. HE IS A CREATION OF THE MASTER TOLKIEN AS ARE MANY OF THE PLACES AND NAMES MENTIONED HERE ON OUT. .

 

*******************************

Thranduil turned around and looked down to Legolas, winking his eye. Legolas was about to run through the gates, but Thranduil called to him, “Legolas, you just might want to wait where you are at.” After all if Lotórie were to not find her uncle, she would be most disappointed, and Thranduil wanted to watch the exchange. It was these moments that provided Thranduil his bits of joy that were like a refuge from the ever-encompassing Shadow. And he couldn’t help but selfishly indulge in such moments with his son. Thranduil saw his son but also his wife, and if only for a moment, would imagine what it would be like for Lotórie to run into her grandmother’s arms. Sounds of giggles from below, snapped Thranduil’s attention back into the present time, and he watched lovingly as Lotórie ran into Legolas’ arms.

“Uncle Legolas!” Lotórie squealed as she hopped into her uncles waiting arms, “look what I made!” She stuck the crooked little arrow in Legolas’ face, accidentally smacking his forehead with the shaft of the arrow, and waited wide-eyed for her uncle’s approval. With her free hand she grasped one of Legolas’ braids, as it was her tendency to automatically seek for the security of the braid. If other little elves had security blankets, Lotórie had her uncle Legolas’ braids.

“What is this, little one?” Legolas held the little elf in his arms, and reached up to the object Lotórie’s hand was wound tightly around. Legolas gasped, “Oh my, it is an arrow!” 

Lotórie’s eyes brightened and she enthusiastically nodded her head, but her enthusiasm resulted in her pulling Legolas’ braid rather sharply.

Legolas grimaced slightly, but was able to hide his discomfort from his niece. He didn’t want her to become over concerned. After all, he should be used to the tugging of his braids. He took the arrow from her hands and spoke with awe, “By the Valar, if this isn’t one of the finest arrows I have set eyes upon! None of the arrows in my quiver match it!”

Lotórie’s little body shook with delighted laughter, and Legolas could not help but spin her around, and join her in her merriment.

“Uncle Legolas, do you really think so?”

“Of course,” Legolas replied, “see here, how the wood of the arrow is thoughtfully stained a dark brown?”

Lotórie nodded her head vigorously, causing some brown curls that had been suspended by a hairpin to come loose around her face.

Legolas continued, “This tells me that the maker of this arrow is indeed wise, for he or she was mindful that the arrow needed to disappear in the darkness of our woods.” Legolas held the arrow up to the light, “Look, see here, the feathers, they have been hand wound? Not such an easy task. And the feathers, such rich hues of green and brown, like the earth and trees. This arrow will fly true! Once let loose it will disappear in the air and fly faithfully to its target. Oh I feel sorry for the foe who falls to this arrow, for he will not see it until it is embedded in him!” Legolas glanced at Lotórie. Her little face wore a large smile that beamed with pride. 

Lotórie spoke up, squealing excitedly, “Uncle Legolas, I made this arrow! I made it for you!”

Legolas playfully gasped, “Loth nín, my flower, *you* made this… for me?”

“Yes I did! Oh Uncle Legolas” Lotórie exclaimed, planting a big wet kiss on his cheek, the kind of kiss only little children so lovingly grace their loved ones with, “you really think it is a great arrow?”

Legolas replied softly, “Yes indeed, it is a very good arrow, and I am honored to have it.” He set Lotórie on the ground, and then knelt with one knee on the ground before her. He took the arrow and put it in Lotórie’s small little hand and asked, “Lotórie, will you do me the honor of placing your most beautiful arrow in my quiver?”

Lotórie’s mouth fell open, “You really mean it?”

“Of course I do!” 

Lotórie then worked her face into what she thought would be the most appropriate seriousness befitting the moment, and walked around Legolas’ kneeling figure. With wide eyes, but stern countenance, Lotórie dropped the crooked little bow into Legolas’ quiver, and stood, frozen by the awe of the moment.

Legolas swung around and caught the little body in his arms and stood up. “Hiril nîn, my lady,” Legolas sweetly spoke, “you have graced me with a most divine of gifts. I shall treasure it and make sure it flies with truth!” He then lifted Lotórie’s little hand, raising it to his lips, and placed a light kiss on it. With sudden mirth in his eyes, Legolas announced, “And now, we shall see who is the first to reach Ada’s study! The winner gets all the dessert they want tonight!”

Lotórie wriggled out of Legolas’ arms and dropped to the floor running into the Elven King’s Halls, with Legolas chasing behind. Legolas paused before entering the Great Gates and looked up to his father, aware that he had watched the entire scene, “Adar, I am sure you will have no objections if our little flower has her fill of dessert tonight!” 

“Of course ion nîn, my son, I would expect nothing else, as I suspect you will be joining our little Lotórie in her delightful dessert banquet!” 

Legolas let out a hearty laugh, “I have a little nymph to catch up with! I can’t let her win too easily.” And suddenly Legolas was gone.


	3. Thranduil’s Pain and Joy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Thranduil chuckled, his children had faced many difficult times, but their love of each other was the beacon that allowed Thranduil to endure the harshest of sorrows. 
> 
> Thranduil leapt from his perch on the tree, landing elegantly and silently on the earth below. The Great Gates stood tall next to him, crafted of heavy stone and metal. On this day, the Gates were open, letting the cool breezes of the day enter caves. He absentmindedly ran his hands over the walls of earth, rock, and root that elven magic braided into elegant tapestries as he made his way to his study in the upper halls. This labyrinth of caves felt airier and less oppressive to Elvish sensibilities. The roots of the ancient trees were abundant in this area, so much so that that fey Silvan magic took advantage of their wooded friends to decorate the walls of the caves so that it appeared an underground forest had grown amongst the stone...."

Creation Song of Ilúvatar

Chapter Three: Thranduil’s Pain and Joy

 

===========================================================

How does he do that, Thranduil pondered. He is elf after all, but I must admit he is tortuously gifted in the art of disappearance and stealth! I fear Rainiell was too thorough in her lessons to her brother. Ai, and Laurenor was no better, sneaking Legolas out without my permission when he was but Lotórie’s age. Thranduil chuckled, his children had faced many difficult times, but their love of each other was the beacon that allowed Thranduil to endure the harshest of sorrows. 

Thranduil leapt from his perch on the tree, landing elegantly and silently on the earth below. The Great Gates stood tall next to him, crafted of heavy stone and metal. On this day, the Gates were open, letting the cool breezes of the day enter caves. He absentmindedly ran his hands over the walls of earth, rock, and root that elven magic braided into elegant tapestries as he made his way to his study in the upper halls. This labyrinth of caves felt airier and less oppressive to Elvish sensibilities. The roots of the ancient trees were abundant in this area, so much so that that fey Silvan magic took advantage of their wooded friends to decorate the walls of the caves so that it appeared an underground forest had grown amongst the stone. 

Stone pillars were carved to mimic the beech trees beloved by the Silvan folk. Thranduil indeed benefited from the craftsmanship of the Elves that made their way to Mirkwood who had long ago lived in the fabled Doriath, learning the craft of stonework from the dwarves that helped build Menegroth, the Thousand Caves, during the time of Thingol, in the First Age. The Great Hall, it is said, was fashioned after the wonders of Menegroth, though for those who beheld the glory of Menegroth, Thranduil’s Halls were quainter, though many would say more humble. 

The narrow cave Thranduil had been climbing opened up into a larger cave, though care was taken that its cavernous origins were subdued. This large room, Thranduil’s study, was filled with precious books, placed on oak shelves that were carved to resemble vines climbing the walls. Rich silk tapestries depicting the seasons hung on the walls, along with portraits of his family, which helped to soften and cheer the stone walls. At one end of the study, was his large desk, crafted of dark exotic wood. Papers, books, and other items lay strewn across the desktop. Maps of Mirkwood with notes and figures on them were placed on easels that were easily transportable. At the other end of the study, a large plush rug with scenes of deer woven leaping amongst the great beech trees of his realm warmed the cold stone ground. Floor pillows of sturdy silk construction were strewn about, along with small figurines of animals carved of wood that certain little ones enjoyed to play with while the Elven king was working.

Legolas and Lotórie had quickly come and gone from his study, leaving the Elven King alone with his thoughts. Thranduil looked at the objects that had collected over the ages. Some were merely functional, but others were wholly sentimental. He surveyed the room with a wistful longing—too many of those objects reminded him of his wife. In these moments, Thranduil understood that immortality could be more of a burden than a gift. 

He remembered a time soon after Nyére’s untimely death. He had wished for death, the curse of the mortals, but Thranduil imagined it was a gift for it parted one with the sorrows of living. A deep ache that he normally held at bay began to rise in his chest. He still longed for Nyére’s touch, for her sweet laughter, and her wise counsel. 

I too could have faded when you passed, meleth nîn, but our children’s resiliency has proved strong, and my promise to you has been kept. I hope that I have been the father you hoped I would be Nyére. I hope I have been the king you knew I could be. Indeed, so many of our kin have left these lands. This age is one that shall be remembered with sorrow by the Eldar. We are leaving these shores, and all the beauty we have witnessed and helped create will fade, and yet even for those of us who linger, the shadow has increased, and the fires of malevolence are rekindled.

It was the third age of middle earth, and it was a sad time for elves, for the third age was witness to the fading of the Eldar. The year was 2968, although years were not so keenly paid attention to by elves, yet this year felt heavy with importance for Thranduil. It was as if some promise had been born somewhere on Arda. He felt comforted by these feelings of hope. Thranduil paused, and remembered that the begetting time of Legolas was conceived with such a feeling. He walked towards a shelf that held an assortment of almanacs and calendars he had collected over the long, long, years, letting his hand trace the various leather bound works. They came from almost every conceivable corner on middle earth, representing most cultures that had come and gone through the ages. And yet the year was 2968 of the Third Age. The previous years had been full of evil happenings from Sauron declaring himself openly and sending Nazgul to Dol Guldur to the fires of Mt. Doom being rekindled. But hope was to be found in this time…yes hope!

“Lost in thoughts and memory again Adar?”

Thranduil turned to face the Elf that had appeared in his study. The beautiful smile on his daughter’s face melted away his worries. “Rainiell, sell nîn, my daughter, you are a pleasant interruption!”

“Why thank you Ada,” Rainiell laughed, “I had a feeling you needed some of *my* company. After all, I am your favorite daughter.” Rainiell danced over to Thranduil twirling her arms about, mimicking a popular dance, and fell into her father’s arms.

Thranduil teased, “Rainiell, you are my *only* daughter!” 

Thranduil took his eldest child’s hand and twirled her around, bowing before her. “And one of you, my dear is enough,” the Elven King provoked.

Rainiell placed her hand under her father’s chin, bringing his face up to hers, “but I am still your favorite daughter.” Rainiell then took his hand, and spun herself out from him, extending her free hand in an exaggerated dance pose, while holding on to his extended hand. She then spun herself in, back into her father’s hug, and whispered softly, “I love you Ada.”

Thranduil’s laughing faded, and he replied, “As do I, as do I.”

“See I told you Rainiell, father only loves himself.” 

Father and daughter turned to find Legolas leaning against the entrance of the study, arms crossed against his chest, sporting a smug smile. Before either could say anything, Legolas continued, “and you my dearest sister are *only* his favorite daughter. I am his most favorite of all of us.”

Rainiell glared at her little brother, and quickly found a book from her father’s desk to throw at Legolas. Luckily, Legolas anticipated just such a move, and guessing correctly, stepped aside as the book thudded against the wall next to him. Rainiell, not to be out maneuvered, grabbed a large glass of wine from her father’s desk and hurled the contents towards Legolas. This time Legolas did not guess right, the wine splashing all over him.

In retaliation, Legolas grabbed his sister by the waist, tossing her over his shoulder, announcing, “we shall see who wins this battle!”

Through fits of giggles Rainiell yelled, “Legolas, you scoundrel, put me down!

“I will not!”

All the while Thranduil looked upon his youngest and oldest child with much amusement and thought, All I need is for Laurenor to appear and join in this ruckus. As these thoughts crossed his mind, Laurenor, his middle son, appeared.

“What’s going on? Why is Rainiell shrieking?” Laurenor asked. But upon seeing the reason for Rainiell’s howling—Legolas was madly spinning her around the study—he thought, I should probably step back. Laurenor was the middle child, a bit impulsive, and as elves go, he lacked some common sense. 

Rainiell screamed at Laurenor through fits of laughter, “Legolas said that HE is father’s favorite… and, and that your only saving grace is your daughter!”

Legolas suddenly flipped Rainiell upright, releasing her, leaving her swaying with dizziness. “I did not say that Laurenor,” Legolas pleaded. ”Well, I did not say that part about Lotórie,” he added becoming quite serious, “and you do know I am father’s favorite.” 

“Oh you are now Legolas,” Laurenor countered. “Well let’s just see how favorite you are. Ada--” Laurenor cried to his father, “who would you rather have move to Lothlórien: me or Legolas?”

“Not fair Laurenor,” Legolas cried out, “you know father will choose you because he wouldn’t want Lotórie to be far from him! Isn’t that right Ada!--- Ada?” 

When Thranduil didn’t respond, all three of his children turned to look at their father, and found him sitting in his desk chair, crumpled up in a fit of silent laughter. Tears were running down the king’s cheeks, so full was his enjoyment. Thranduil motioned to his children to stop speaking, and finally muttered, “Please stop, all of you, you are making me hurt with laughter!”

The three siblings glanced at one another and all at once ran to their father, smothering him with hugs. Rainiell ended up on Thranduil’s lap, Legolas and Laurenor, crowded around the king’s shoulders, and the three kissed the King like starved birds pecking at new found food. 

Thranduil waved his arms around, trying to untangle himself from his children. His voice echoed with a mock scolding tone, “Rainiell, you are over 2,500 years old, and you Laurenor follow closely. And Legolas, you are over 16oo years old, yet you all behave like elflings!” 

The three adult nymphs looked at their father with solemn faces, but all, including their father, broke into hearty laughter. Such were the moments that Thranduil was blessed with, and they were many indeed, for although the shadow was a constant threat and all were adults burdened with the troubles of the world, they had each other and these joys they refused to surrender.  
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~


	4. Hearts and Quivers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> "Aní was running through the narrow caves of Thranduil’s keep, looking for his mother. He was on an urgent errand from Faelon, Mirkwood’s captain of the guard, a just elf—as his name represented—when it came to matters of duty. ...."

Creation Song of Ilúvatar

 

Chapter 4: Hearts and Quivers

Aní was running through the narrow caves of Thranduil’s keep, looking for his mother. He was on an urgent errand from Faelon, Mirkwood’s captain of the guard, a just elf—as his name represented—when it came to matters of duty. However when it came to matters of the heart, Faelon was a bundle of nerves. Faelon was in love with Turwen, one of Mirkwood’s master trainers, but he dared not reveal it to her. Something in Faelon made him doubt that Turwen would return his feelings. Aní could not fathom why Faelon would doubt himself when it came to matters of the heart. 

Faelon is a great warrior, the respected captain of the guard, Aní thought to himself. But yet he is rendered a shy, bumbling elf around Turwen. Surely, any maiden would be overjoyed to learn that the great Faelon is their suitor?

Faelon, on the advice of Rainiel had volunteered to assist Turwen with the training of novice warriors on that day, but now he found himself unable to gather his wits about him. Many of the novice warriors were puzzled that the decorated warrior and otherwise confident captain was stumbling for words and stuttering through those that did escape his mouth. Some of these novices had to suppress chuckles for they were privy to the reasons behind Faelon’s clumsiness, and all too aware of why he would be so unsure of himself around a maiden he fancied.

***

Earlier that day, Aní happened to be passing by the training field, when Faelon spied him. Faelon, feeling quite flustered, discretely called to Aní and enlisted him to go retrieve his mother. Faelon desperately hoped that Rainiel would have some words to soothe him and suggestions as to how to get his act together! Rainiel was his confidant, and closest friend, and knew the entirety of his situation, after all. 

The tight grip on Aní’s shoulder was indication of the urgency of Faelon’s request, as was the piercing glare that shot from Faelon’s narrowed eyes. Aní nodded his head, but before he could speak Faelon shoved him along on his errand, quite forcefully. 

***

Aní slowed down to a walk as he neared Thranduil’s study. He asked a guard who was walking from the direction of the study, “Herenion, have you seen my mother?”

“Yes, hîr Aníralendon, hiril Rainiel is in the King’s study along with the Laurenor and Legolas,“ Herenion replied, using Aní’s formal name.

Aní noticed the grin that spread across the guard’s face, “So I see that they are up to some sort of merriment in there, aren’t they,” Aní asked, shaking his head in mock disapproval. 

Herenion laughed, “Indeed they are. You know how they can get!”

Aní nodded in agreement. “Their merriment brings us all great joy, does it not,” 

“Indeed it does Aní,” Herenion concurred, dropping formalities. “It serves as a reminder that although the Shadow encroaches upon us, we can continue to be joyous. I am well reminded that when I see my wife and child tonight, I will greet them with all my love.”

“Ai, Herenion, it is time for you to be getting home, is it not,” Aní exclaimed. Herenion nodded his head. “Then I will hold you no longer. Please send my greetings to your family.”

Herenion departed down the hall, and called out to Aní, “Hir nîn, my lord, I heard about the unintended flight of one of your arrows! Blasted arrows, sometimes they fly on their own whim!” The last of these words trailed off as Herenion disappeared amongst the maze of caves. 

Aní turned to where the words emanated, and so shocked was he that as he spun around in deep embarrassment, he collided with a wall. Aní glanced around to make sure know one had seen or heard his encounter with the wall, and headed sheepishly towards Thranduil’s study. 

Aní reached his grandfather’s study and found his mother, uncles and grandfather comfortably lounging on the plush floor rug. The young warrior’s mother sat close to her father, sharing a silk floor pillow for support. Legolas was lying beside Rainiel, resting his head in her lap. Laurenor sat cross-legged across from Thranduil and Rainiel, slouching over. His hand was unconsciously grasping one of Legolas’ braids, twisting it around his fingers, as he listened to Legolas recount the many tales encountered while out on patrol. The amusement visible on their faces made Aní wince inwardly-- Legolas had told them about his mishap.

“Aní, please come in, “ Legolas coolly spoke up, without looking up at him. “As you were part of this patrol, you might be able to add some—er, crucial pieces of information to a certain incident that occurred.” 

Aní groaned, he knew quite well of what Legolas was referring to. Aní was a regular member of Legolas’ patrols in Mirkwood, and the last patrol had proven difficult. Aní had let fly an arrow during a skirmish with orcs, but it somehow had found its way into another elven warrior’s behind. 

Aní opened his mouth to speak, but Legolas did not allow him the opportunity to defend himself. Legolas spoke dryly “but you did not come here to share this information, that, I am certain of.” Legolas spoke this last phrase as if to himself, but refocused on Aní and continued, “Pray, what is it that you need?” 

The formal tone his uncle used was too much for Aní, “Legolas, please do not torture me so! It was but an innocent mistake!”

Legolas’ straight face broke into a wide grin, “Yes it was nephew, and a most embarrassing one at that!” Giggles emanated from the group, making Aní shuffle his feet.

Thranduil added kindly, “It is my understanding that the injured elf is recuperating quickly, and holds no grudge against you, Aní.”

Aní’s face was turning different shades of crimson, and he let out an almost inaudible whine, “I-- I-- really don’t know how it happened.”

Sensing her son’s state of embarrassment, Rainiel stood up and walked over to Aní, embracing him in a protective manner. “Aní, just remind your Uncle who it was that almost rendered a certain captain of the guard-- unable to bear children,” she smoothly replied. Rainiel looked sweetly at her youngest brother, and waited for his mouth to come up off the floor.

Aní was confused, and glanced at his mother who was looking in the direction of Legolas. Legolas’ face began to go pale, but the glance he shot back at Aní’s mother would have rendered any other elf paralyzed with fear. Rainiel simply smirked and held Legolas’ gaze.

Laurenor snapped up sharply, and laughingly added, “Yes thanks to your stray arrow Legolas, our dear Faelon, has only one *quiver* to aid in his storage of *arrows*!”

Legolas’ face began turning a deep red, and his jaw moved as if he were to speak but was unable to find words to reply to his siblings.

Aní’s face lit up with understanding. “You mean, Faelon has only one-- Legolas shot Faelon, in the, in the---“

“YES, I shot an arrow into one of Faelon’s-- quivers,” Legolas hesitated. “But it was an accident!” he howled.

“As was my shot Legolas, “ Aní retorted.

“Yes, Aní, your shot was an accident, but, but mine was misdirected by Laurenor,” Legolas muttered through a clenched jaw.

“I never bumped your bow as you shot, “ Laurenor replied. “It was the wind, I say.”

“The wind,” Legolas cried out indignantly. “Your behind crashing into my bow as I shot the arrow was the DIRECT cause of it going astray, and into—into Faelon’s---“ Legolas’ voice trailed off. The mere mention of the accident made Legolas shutter. What self-respecting elf would like to have been shot in the groin area? And what a shot it had been for it struck Faelon directly in one of his aforementioned parts. The wound was bad enough that the *part* had to be removed. Luckily, Faelon’s other *quiver* remained intact, and his ability to father elves, possible.

Thranduil interjected, “I must come to Legolas’ defense,” and turning to look at Laurenor added, “Laurenor you did bump into Legolas. Faelon himself said just so. Poor Faelon,” Thranduil sighed, “you should have seen the look of horror that shadowed his face when he recounted the story. Only I do not have the heart to retell the vivid details of, mm, the impact.”

Aní, Laurenor, Legolas, and Thranduil shivered and looked at each other with knowing eyes, their faces growing pale. Laurenor strategically placed a pillow over his lower body, and held it tightly. The mention of the event was enough to make them wince with the imagined pain.

Legolas interrupted their wide-eyed imaginings and continued hesitantly, “As I said, it wasn’t my fault, but Aní, seriously, yours was a result of a seconds loss in your concentration.” Legolas looked at Aní with sympathetic eyes, “I know that that was the largest and fiercest horde of orcs you have encountered yet, but I would be remiss if I didn’t demand that it not happen again.” 

Thranduil and Laurenor nodded with agreement. Rainiel shrugged her shoulders, and patted her son on the back, “And I know this will be the only time this happens, my son, but you will never live it down.” She looked over to Legolas and winked, “but some of our accidents have been more costly than others.” Rainiel had to suddenly duck as Legolas hurled a pillow at her.

Legolas’ deep blue eyes sparkled with merriment, “And one way to make sure it does not is to embarrass you so deeply that it will never cross your mind to let your concentration falter, if even for a second! Your mother has taught me this lesson well.” 

Aní’s face relaxed into a smile. It was true. He had for the briefest of time, been somewhat caught off guard by the ferocity of orcs, and had let loose an arrow that went astray. He knew that this would not happen again, as he would never be allowed to live down the incident. But the painfully comical nature of Faelon’s injury was too much of a good story, one that Legolas would never live down as well! It dawned on Aní that maybe this was why Faelon was so unsure in his pursuit of Turwen. 

Aní exclaimed aloud, “Poor Faelon, he is afraid Turwen will reject him because of his missing, uh, lack of-- Oh poor Faelon!” 

Rainiel laughed heartily, “Oh my poor Faelon! Yes his confidence as it concerns Turwen has been somewhat lessened as a result of his accident.”

Aní glanced at his mother, suddenly remembering his errand, “Mother, Faelon needs your assistance! He is helping Turwen out with the novice warriors and is a wreck. You should see the poor elf, he cannot string a coherent sentence together, and he is so fidgety his hands betray him!”

Rainiel, raised her hand to her mouth in surprise. “Oh no, Faelon- I fear that my advice may end up making him more reclusive towards Turwen if he embarrasses himself beyond repair!,” Rainiel looked at her family and excused herself. She had a friend to help out. 

How can I make him understand that Turwen will not care if he is missing that, Rainiel thought to herself. Why are ellyn so damned concerned with THOSE aspects of themselves. And we elves say we are not consumed by silly matters as mortals are! Male elves can be as bad as men- silly, silly males. There is so much more to passion and love! 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ellyn-male elves


	5. Virgin Sacrifices and Spouses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Silvan feasting, naughty wood elves, and more!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DO NOT OWN LEGOLAS. HE IS A CREATION OF THE MASTER TOLKIEN AS ARE MANY OF THE PLACES AND NAMES MENTIONED HERE ON OUT. 
> 
>  
> 
> Creation Song of Ilúvatar
> 
> Chapter 5: Virgin Sacrifices and Spouses
> 
> \-------------------------------------------  
> A/N: This chapter is a solid PG-13 for sexual innuendo. I do not think it is outrageous but I thought it best to write this disclaimer. Thank you to all my reviewers!  
> \----------------------------------------------

Legolas walked over to Aní and hugged him tightly.  “None of us are perfect, but we pretend to be.  I guess that’s why we need family around to remind us that we are only as imperfect as the life that blossoms around us!”  The bond between uncle and nephew was close.  Legolas was Aní’s superior, but this fact did not tend to strain the relationship so valued by the two warrior elves.  Aní greatly respected Legolas, and at little over 500 years of age, Aní knew he still had much to learn.

 

Laurenor added playfully, “And I will always be there to remind both you and Legolas of your follies, imperfections, bad days, and of the countless rejections you have received from maidens!”

 

Thranduil cleared his throat to catch the male elves’ attention, “And this aged elf is here to make sure you all behave properly!” Thranduil grabbed Laurenor by the arm, and whispered to him in a tone that he knew both Legolas and Aní could hear, “And my dearest son, I will NEVER tell Aní and Legolas how Istawen complains of your lack of creativeness in certain areas!” Although untrue, Thranduil’s words left no doubt in their minds, his sarcasm always had the worst bite!

 

Aní and Legolas couldn’t contain themselves and doubled over bursting with laughter. Legolas cried out through fits of laughter, “Oh dear brother, your face has turned the deepest shade of crimson this day.  You have out done both Aní and I!  Ada, I am reminded never to challenge you.”

 

Laurenor finally summed up the courage to look up from the floor and mumbled, “I will have you know my wife finds me most…satisfying.”

 

Legolas held on to Aní’s shoulder, as he almost fell over from the fits of laughter that shook his body.  He waved at Laurenor with his other hand, “Please, Laurenor, we need not know the details of your amorous encounters with your wife.  Istawen is, is,” Legolas trailed off, fighting for breath between his now bellowing laughs. 

 

Elves were not shy in talking about sex, nor did they find the topic and act to be deplorable in any fashion, but abilities were a matter of pride, and elven males and females for that matter were quite aware of their prowess.   Elves may be near perfect, but they are plagued by contradictions in nature as are all free folk, and so like most folk, elves are not pleased to imagine their siblings or parents in such a way. 

 

Aní picked up from where Legolas left off, “Yes, Istawen is a lucky elven maiden, but please no more! The mere hint of you engaged in such acts makes me grow pale, and we must respect Istawen for she is not here to add her opinion.” 

 

Thranduil added wryly, “Laurenor, I fear that one day Lotórie will join in on these battles of wit and put us in our place.  She is already so wily and smart, my little flower, but the ones I fear for most are her parents.  I should know! We parents suffer our best and worst traits being born and perfected in our children!”

 

The elves nodded in agreement.  Lotórie had them wrapped around her finger, and whatever she wished they did.  But it was with pleasure that they catered to the little elfling.  She was always gracious and genuinely appreciative of all that was done for her.  It was as if the intensity of the dark times she was bourn into somehow made her at once as innocent and cheerful as a child, and as serious and knowing as an adult. 

 

The sounds of bells chiming softly announced to the elves of Mirkwood that a great feast was being readied for all to partake in.  Thranduil looked to his sons and grandson, “Let us go get ready for this night’s feast.  I hope to see you all dressed in your finest for tonight is _mereth uin dúnedhel_ ” And before any of the younger elves could protest, Thranduil rushed out of his study to his personal quarters, comfortably burrowed into the hill amongst the trees. While most of the wood elves lived in simple homes in the trees or on the ground across the Woodland King’s hill, others lived amongst the trees of the steep hill. Some of these homes, like Thranduil’s, had hobbit like chambers dug into the earth, for added protection. In case of attack, the caves in the hill, protected by the magic of the Great Gates, were easily transformed into living quarters, though Elves were hard pressed to leave their homes under the stars for the cover of stone.

 

Legolas groaned, he disliked dressing up in the royal raiment.  It was hardly a tradition of his people. The Sindar that exiled themselves to _Eryn Galen_ , away from the influence of the Noldor, chose to take on their Silvan kins’ customs, yet some of the customs of the Sindarin Princes remained, even if they were remade in jest.  “ _Mereth uin dúnedhel_ ,” he groaned. Legolas had forgotten it was indeed during this time in the season that the Wood Elves would honor their Sindarin King and those that had traveled East to settle amongst the _Tawarwaith_ , even though the honoring was entirely absurd and festive. He knew that upon entering his living quarters, his clothes would be laid out on his bed, picked out for him.  “I wonder what color we will be wearing tonight,” he mumbled painfully.

 

Laurenor shrugged, “I don’t mind at all.  It pleases me actually, because Lotórie gets so excited choosing the colors we will have to wear.  You don’t want to disappoint my daughter, do you Legolas?” Laurenor glanced at Legolas and received a roll from the latter’s eyes in response.  Legolas and Aní both shared their dislike of dressing up for _mereth_ but neither would disappoint Thranduil nor Lotórie.  The three headed to their chambers to ready for the feast.

 

***

 

The evening feast near the Halls of the Woodland King was grand.  The beech trees were lit up with hundreds of blown glass lanterns that twinkled like the brightest evening stars.  Low lying tables lined the open areas between the trees and pillows were strewn on the ground that provided impromptu seating.  The tables were lined with garlands of woodland flowers, and rising from within the garlands were candles shaped like trees, emanating a warm glow.  The sound of the Forest River flowing near by added a soft melody to the glorious evening.

 

In the center of the banquet rose a majestic beech tree.  Large chandeliers made of delicate twigs and glass hung from the branches, bathing the large table below it with an iridescent light.  Thranduil was seated at the center of the table, upon richly embroidered pillows made of hearty material that withstood the elements.  Wood elves enjoyed sitting on the ground.  It made them feel more firmly rooted in the earth.   

 

Thranduil was dressed in a velvet robe of green that bore no embroidery.  Beneath it he wore a tunic of  light gold that was embroidered with threads of dark gold that traced the shapes of leaves along the fabric.  A crown of woodland flowers lay upon his brow.  His sons wore similarly colored outfits, but both their robes and tunics were darker.  The colors suited Legolas’ blond locks the most, and he seemed to shimmer in a golden light.  In fact to all who looked upon Thranduil’s children, the gold of their fabrics seemed to catch the lights of the candles upon the tables and the lights reflected from the chandeliers above them, and Legolas seemed to shine the brightest.

Laurenor and Legolas sat comfortably on their pillows, taking in the merriment that had begun around them.  Laurenor noticed the many looks that were cast towards his younger brother, and some admiring but respectful glances that were cast towards him.   At Legolas’ age, Laurenor had been quite popular with young maidens both elven and mortal, but Legolas, he noticed caught the attention of many more eyes.  Laurenor did not feel jealousy, but rather sympathy for his brother.  He on the one hand did not mind the attention, and in fact relished in it, but Legolas was not as quick to enjoy the admiration thrown at him. 

 

“We need a virgin sacrifice tonight.  The wood spirits are hungering for a taste of its sweetness,” Laurenor announced to Legolas.   Laurenor caught a young maiden sitting at a table near them glancing indiscriminately at Legolas.  He called over to the pretty elf, “Is it the light of gold that emanates from my brother that so draws your gaze, my lady?”

 

The elf drew her eyes away in mock embarrassment. Laurenor continued, “Do not draw your eyes away in shame, for it is only natural.” Laurenor gripped Legolas’ arm, but the golden haired elf refused to turn.

 

Laurenor winked at the elf maiden drawing a demure smile from her pretty lips, “Prince Legolas is not fooling anyone, is he?  He pretends to be a most chaste and pure elf, disguised behind the Vanyarin gold of his hair, but we both know that what lurks beneath his fair countenance are the wild passions of a wood elf!”

 

The young maiden now laughed freely and glanced over at the youngest son of Thranduil.  Laurenor cautioned her, “But be careful my lady, and do not draw too much blood.  Our _prince, “_ Laurenor emphasized the title—that held little significance amongst the Silvan— knowing Legolas abhorred it, “has let loose too much of it. We might need another body to sacrifice tonight.” At this point, Laurenor clutched his hand to his chest, feinting deep sorrow, eyes downcast, “For you see, my lady, our _prince_ has sacrificed himself one time too many in the name of the _ellith_ of our wood, pretending virtue.“

 

The Elves within earshot of Laurenor’s words were laughing with amusement. The _ellith_ were particularly tickled to see Legolas so flustered.

 

Legolas’ body tensed beneath Laurenor’s grip, turning to face his brother.  Laurenor’s smug smile widened as his brother eyed him. Legolas smoothed his tunic, looking down to hide his impish grin. Composing himself, Legolas reached for a carafe of wine and refilled his glass. “Sacrifice, you say _muindor nín_ , my brother, of a virgin you say, to appease the spirit of the _rodwen_? Though you accuse me of false virtue I must confess that I had a fine example in you.” Legolas held his hand up to put pause to his brother’s dissent.

 

Laurenor held his tongue, raising an eyebrow, curious to see where Legolas’ was going with his incriminating tale.

 

The pause was too long for the audience, “Go on Legolas,” a voice shouted from one of the nearby tables.

 

Legolas continued, “Was it not you that professed your virtue to Elrondiell, convincing her that it was the way of our people to offer such a gift to honored visitors, only to have her discover that you could claim no such virtue and that we have no such custom?” Legolas brought the glass to his mouth, sipping the fine red wine.

 

The feast was now filled with boisterous howling and unidentified elves raised their voice, “You almost brought the armies of Imladris to our Gates Laurenor!”

 

“Elladan and Elrohir wanted your head as a trophy!”

 

“Arwen did not know who the son of Thranduil really was,” one elf shouted.

 

Another added, “But she found out!”

 

The good-natured ribbing continued, Legolas adding his two cents, here and there. Laurenor wanted to reply, but he fumbled for words, for Legolas spoke the truth. He hadn’t considered his brother would share this tidbit of information with so many. But of course, this story was well known to all. So Laurenor filled his vessel with wine, stood up amidst whistles and cheers, and bowed deeply before his Elven friends.

 

The Elves settled into conversations with their neighbors. As Laurenor sat down,

Legolas continued to taunt his brother, “I remember a time when you used to sneak off with me when I was but Lotórie’s age, and if I recall correctly, I was a pawn used to attract the pretty maidens.  And did they ever swoon for you- might I add thanks to *me*.  I guess females, whatever their race, have always preferred me but that’s beside the point.  I remember you to be rather the libertine, but never *the* preferred of the maidens.”

Laurenor snorted, “The preferred of females, you Legolas!?  Of orcen females to be sure!” Laurenor launched into a bawdy minstrels tale:

_Now it is told here and there that they can be heard_  
 _snorting amidst the shadows of the wood,_  
 _lusting after a certain blonde elven prince,_  
 _whose hair glimmers like the golden sun even in the darkness of night!_  
 _They sing of their fair prince,_  
 _‘Oh lord, his full lips, wet with the dew of morning,_  
 _blush of rose touching upon his high cheekbones,_  
 _and his eyes made of shimmering blue sapphires that pierce the heart of my most wicked and hateful heart!’_  
 

Legolas raised another glass to his brother as he concluded the bawdy tune.

 

“You see Legolas,” Laurenor continued very matter of factly, refilling his own glass, “elven maidens, on the other hand, prefer dark haired elves, like me.  We are more feral. While orcs prefer the more dainty golden haired males!” 

 

Laurenor twirled his loose hair around his finger and playfully flung the dark locks over his back.  He leaned over to his brother and growled in his ear. 

 

Legolas threw his head back and laughed loudly, “My own brother is trying to seduce me with his feral growl!  No my brother, I do not doubt your abilities- in fact, I believe that the flowers in front of us are beginning to swoon.  I curse the golden locks that frame my face!”

 

Lotórie caught the exchange between her father and Legolas.  She promptly marched up behind them and glanced at each with her best Thranduil-like face, eyebrows positioned threateningly.  The two brothers were so engaged in their war of wit that they managed to ignore the little elf standing behind them.   Lotórie turned to the young maiden who was startled by Legolas’ exclamation and looked at her curiously.  She wasn’t quite sure what it was about the way the maiden looked at her uncle that bothered her.

 

A little voice suddenly chimed in, “But uncle Legolas, don’t you know that all the maidens fancy you?” Lotórie’s eyes beamed  and she continued most seriously, “Yes uncle, I have heard them, and they *love* your golden locks.  They talk amongst themselves about how they would love to get their hands on your hair.” Lotórie giggled, “I don’t blame them. I love combing your hair too!”

 

The two elves reached over to Lotórie who stood behind them, and picked her up, bringing her over their heads.  They brought her down and squeezed her between them. 

 

Istawen who had been sitting across the table from the competing brothers finally broke her amused silence, “I must say that you, my dear husband have never growled in MY ear that way before.  In fact I don’t think you have ever growled in my ear.”

 

Laurenor looked at his wife and grinned dumbly at her.  Legolas glanced at his brother, and shoved him in the side encouraging him to respond to his wife. 

 

“ _Meleth nîn_ , my love, shall I demonstrate my growl later this evening?  I was merely perfecting it for you,” Laurenor whispered to his wife.

 

“I look forward it to Laurenor, but watch out, for another feral wood elf may surprise you in return.” Istawen keenly raised one eyebrow, but this was very un-Thranduil in nature, and rather provocative.   She ran her fingers suggestively through her long dark thick hair.

 

A small gasp escaped Laurenor’s lips.

 

Lotórie watched the loving exchange between her parents and smiled gleefully.  Legolas pulled the elfling over onto his lap.  “And now my little niphredil it is time to eat!”  Legolas motioned over to elves that were helping serve the night’s food—a chore shared equally amongst all, “Can you please bring us the dessert here?  Our little flower here is being honored for a mighty gift she bestowed upon me, and not too mention she beat me in a race today.”

 

Lotórie’s eyes danced with happiness, and she clapped her hands excitedly, “Legolas, you remembered!  Are you going to eat dessert with me too?  It’s ok you know, even if I did beat you.”

 

“I certainly am,” the golden haired elf responded.  “I have been looking forward to this all day.” Legolas glanced over to Thranduil who was seated not far from him at the center of the table, knowing that the King would be involved in all the conversations that took place at his table.  Thranduil smiled at his son and nodded in approval. 

 

Rainiel was seated next to Thranduil, and next to her was her husband Erutunín.  Their son Aníralendon was seated across from them, and was hungrily devouring the roasted pheasant that had been served only minutes before.  Erutunín was originally from Imladris, and when he wed Rainiel, there was no question that they would live in Mirkwood.  Rainiel’s presence was much too needed.  She was Thranduil’s most trusted counselor, and Laurenor’s rock.  Most important, though, after their mother’s death, Rainiel became as a mother to Legolas.  Erutunín would not break apart any of these ties for he was fortunate enough to have both his parents alive and flourishing in Imladris.  He had had to wait to marry her as she and her brother Laurenor took on many duties after the death of Nyére.  Thranduil had been devastated and if it weren’t for his children stepping in to carry many burdens, the elven realm of Mirkwood may have been completely overcome by Shadow. 

 

Erutunín looked over to his wife.  They had married during the time of the watchful peace.  These times had finally allowed Rainiel some time to consider her own needs.  Legolas had encouraged his sister to look to her own life, and in the year 2340, Erutunín and Rainiel plighted their troth to one another.  Aní had been born prior to the end of the watchful peace, and his little life had made the return of the shadow to Mirkwood easier to bear for the family.

 

Rainiel caught her husband looking towards her but lost in deep thought, “ _Meleth nîn_ , my love, what comforts your heart you seem lost deep in memories,” she called out to him, breaking his reverie.

 

He replied, “I was just remembering the time we married, and the blessing of our Aní.  He certainly was a break from the heaviness of the return of Shadow.”

 

Rainiel laughed, “Oh yes, he was a joy and a handful.  I think at times I was more concerned with Aní getting hurt rather than Sauron’s return to Dol Guldur.”

 

Aní had not heard a word, or pretended not to, and continued to devour the plates of food placed in front of him.  Aní was enraptured in the taste of a dessert, licking the sweet nutty cream that oozed down his fingers.  Some of the sweet sticky substance found its way onto Aní’s light brown locks, and glancing around to make sure no one was looking at him, he proceeded to take the strands of hair with his cleanly licked fingers and suck the substance from his hair.  But he had not been discreet enough.

 

A booming voice roused him from his hair, “Aníralendon, too fine is the lineage of your heritage for you to be suckling on your hair like a lowly beast!”

 

Aní dropped his hair from his mouth and looked up.  He noticed that the entire table was staring at him with mouths open in surprise.  He turned around slowly to look upon the source of the voice.  To his surprise, Mithrandir, the Grey Pilgrim, was standing behind him, with a serious wizard look, but the sparkle in his eyes betrayed his amusement.  The table and the wizard broke out into a hearty round of laughter.

 

Aní threw his arms up in the air in defeat.“All right!  You all caught me, but I am going to get myself some more of that dessert.  The cream is ethereal!”  Aní rose from the table and headed to where the desserts were located, unfazed by the act of being caught in an indecorous moment. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> mereth uin dúnedhel-Feast of the Elves of the West (noldor and sindar)  
> tawarwaith-Silvan people, meaning literally forest people  
> mereth- feast  
> ellith-maidens, female elves (pl)  
> rodwen-virgin
> 
> Here are some great images of the entrance to Thranduil’s Halls in the hill:
> 
> http://earing.80port.net/images/illust/jrrtolkien/The%20Elvenking's%20Gate.jpg
> 
> http://corecanvas.s3.amazonaws.com/theonering-0188db0e/gallery/original/jrrt_23.jpg


	6. Songs and Dance

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> ..."Mithrandir, known as Gandalf to the edain, joined in the festivities and was asked to sit at Thranduil’s table. The aged wizard took his place next to Thranduil. He groaned as he lowered himself to the floor. “I am too old to be sitting on the ground. Why do wood elves insist on sitting on the ground.” Before Thranduil could answer Mithrandir continued, “I know, I know, young Thranduil, wood elves love to feel close to ennor! If you ask me, wood elves could benefit some from Noldorian formality in feasting.” 
> 
> Thranduil looked at Mithrandir through raised eyebrows, “If I recall correctly, my dear grey pilgrim, the Noldor also have a certain love for lounging on the earth, under the night skies...”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I DO NOT OWN LEGOLAS. HE IS A CREATION OF THE MASTER TOLKIEN AS ARE MANY OF THE PLACES AND NAMES MENTIONED HERE ON OUT. THE SONG COMPOSITION OF STAR AND ELF ARE OWNED BY CHATHOL-LINN.

Creation Song of Ilúvatar

 

Chapter 6: Songs and Dance

Mithrandir, known as Gandalf to the edain, joined in the festivities and was asked to sit at Thranduil’s table. The aged wizard took his place next to Thranduil. He groaned as he lowered himself to the floor. “I am too old to be sitting on the ground. Why do wood elves insist on sitting on the ground.” Before Thranduil could answer Mithrandir continued, “I know, I know, young Thranduil, wood elves love to feel close to ennor! If you ask me, wood elves could benefit some from Noldorian formality in feasting.” 

Thranduil looked at Mithrandir through raised eyebrows, “If I recall correctly, my dear grey pilgrim, the Noldor also have a certain love for lounging on the earth, under the night skies.” 

“Indeed they do,” Mithrandir retorted, “but at least they have proper seating awaiting old bones like mine.” Mithrandir finally seated himself after much grumbling and readjusting.

Thranduil looked at his friend, and chuckled softly. “Ah yes, we wood elves would have had proper seating for you if we knew you were coming. So what shall we serve you dear friend?”

Mithrandir, raised his eyebrow as if in deep deliberation, “I think I will have some of the venison, and some of the other worldly dessert-- mm, the one with the cream sauce that so enraptured our young Aníralendon.” 

The ithron continued, “Thranduil, your foresight is failing you. Usually you rightly foretell my arrival to your kingdom. Something has occupied your mind of late that clouds your vision. Radagast was too preoccupied communing with the birds and four legged creatures to notice your lapses.”

Thranduil sighed as he motioned for Mithrandir’s food to be brought, “As always you speak the truth. Though I wish you would grace us with your presence more often, I certainly did not sense your arrival.”

Thanduil paused, his gaze turning South then West. “I do not know what it is, but I have felt some presence that I have not known before. It seems insignificant but its energy is frightfully curious. Do you know what this may mean? I can only fathom this is the reason behind your gracious appearance on this eve?”

Mithrandir looked knowingly at the Elvenking, a light shimmering from his eyes peaking through his bushy eyebrows. “King Thranduil, you speak wisely. I do know what it is that has caused your trepidation, but let us not speak of it now for it is not a matter of great importance-- at this moment.” 

Mithrandir looked back to his food and spoke quietly to himself, “Of course within a few hours it will reveal itself and then we shall see.” Mithrandir chuckled and continued eating his meal.

Thranduil heard Mithrandir’s last words. His forehead furrowed in wonder, Now what did Mithrandir mean by that? Thranduil smiled. Any time words of such nature had been spoken by Mithrandir some sort of merry folly ensued. At least his words do not forebode any evil or devious deeds. That is solace enough.

***  
“Sing us a song,” a chorus of voices chanted.

“Yes sing us a song,” Laurenor and Rainiel exclaimed.

The entire feast was calling for its warrior prince to grace them with a song, but the young prince was playfully denying the requests lauded at him. The crowd’s chants grew louder and more unified in their requests and so Thranduil’s youngest spoke up. “I will sing a song, first, if my siblings agree to join me, and second if all the lights in the trees are dimmed.”

The crowd yelled in agreement and the lights in the trees went suddenly dark, leaving only the softly glowing candles on the tables lit. The feast was bathed in a magical moon-like glow, and the crowd grew silent in anticipation of the song that would surely be gifted to them.

Legolas looked at his brother and sister, gracing them with an innocent smile, “My dear brother and sister, would you please do me the honor of joining me in song this night? “

Rainiel and Laurenor bowed their heads in defeat, and rose from their seats to join Legolas who was already standing besides the large beech tree that the King’s table was placed next to.

Rainiel looked to her father, “Hir nîn, my lord, you would honor us by choosing the melody we shall sing tonight.”

Thranduil responded, “I would be honored to do so, but may I make another suggestion?” Thranduil paused and waited for Rainiel’s consent. Rainiel nodded her head, and Thranduil continued, “Mithrandir, you have greatly honored us with your presence on this joyous night. May I ask that you choose this evening’s melody? We would all be most honoured.” 

Mithrandir answered, “I am the one honoured by such a request and I will delightfully acquiesce.” The feast exploded in cheers and applause, and quieted down when the wizard was ready to speak. “The stars and joy of this feast must be celebrated and what better way to do that than to sing a song that tells of a star that fell into these very woods, and walked glowing in the night, and one night perchanced on a wood elf tending the trees of Greenwood the Great!” 

The crowd responded with a thunderous cheer that declared their delightful approval. Thranduil raised his hand to quiet the crowd, “Mithrandir, I could not have chosen more beautifully.” 

Turning to his children, Thranduil spoke softly, “Your voices will grace us this night, and the tale of Êl a Edhel shall let our hearts rejoice in what once was, and what will be.” Although spoken quietly, all heard Thranduil’s poignant words and settled comfortably on their pillows.

The three siblings began to sing the tale of a sparkling star that fell from the sky and landed in Greenwood the Great, during times that the woods were full of only beauty and love. The star walked in elven form, wandering the night and blessing the trees in her presence with the healing powers of her luminous aura. One night she happened upon a wood elf that was singing songs to a group of trees that were huddled about the elf. The star was startled and struck by the beauty of the elf’s voice. She was taken by his long dark locks and the fairness of his face, but ultimately she was snared by the elf’s deep eyes. The wood elf, startled by her light, turned to look upon the sparkling star, and he was thus lost in love for her.

The star and elf, taken by each others brilliance, plighted their love, but it was a love at once beautiful and tragic, for to love his star, the elf had to renounce his earthly form, and be willing to bind himself to the eternal radiance of his star. The lovers approached each other to seal their union by a first kiss and upon their lips meeting, it is said a bright light burst forth through the trees of Greenwood, lightening the skin of the forest. The trees, witness to this union, can still be heard whispering the tale. As the lovers joined, they were engulfed in a bright light that shot up into the skies and there in the folds of the night a bright star was rekindled that can still be seen. Many tell that the journey was like one of a falling star, but this star did not fall, it rose [1].

The trio’s voices wove in and out of a wondrous tapestry of harmonies and melodies, complementing each other perfectly as they sang the melancholy verses. It has been said that on this night, the Valar themselves inclined their heads towards Ennor to listen to the beautiful trio of voices sing the wistful elven song: 

Êl a Edhel , Star and Elf 

“In the Greenwood's southern reaches  
Stands a grove of golden beeches.  
The Enchanted River's waters  
Flow beside these woodland daughters.  
Violet twilight there entrances;  
Wind unfurls the golden branches.  
Elves sing underneath the eaves  
Of Varda's stars and Arda's leaves.  
~~~  
Oft a minstrel came, a Silvan,  
Singing to the trees in Elven  
Ann-thennath of stars above.  
A Star heard, and fell, in love,  
To Middle-earth. "Night is falling!  
\- Can you feel my feä calling?  
Do you feel the fiery yearning?  
Do you see my star heart burning?"  
~~~  
Now the lonely beeches linger,  
Pining for their Silvan singer.  
Elves and Stars are of a kind  
Born to twilight, born to shine.  
Elf and Star are now, forever,  
High above the trees, together.  
Elven-Star now shine as one,  
East of the Moon, West of the Sun.” (2)  
~~~

 

The song echoed at once melancholy and joyful, as are the hearts of elves, and the voices of Thranduil’s children faded as the song came to its end. Lovers hugged each other, husbands and wives tightened their embrace around one another, mothers and fathers held their children closer, and families looked upon each other with knowing eyes. For such was the paradox of immortality, to be able to know the greatest of joys because of the knowledge tempered by the deepest of sorrows. 

Thranduil rose and gathered his children in an embrace, and facing his people he spoke: “And although the darkness is ever near, we rejoice in our love for each other. We were reminded tonight that indeed great sacrifice is needed to sustain love, but that great joys come of it, even if we cannot be sure how this will come to be. Let us now sing together! ” 

The great crowd gathered burst into the gathering song of the Mirkwood elves, and all joined in raising their wine filled glasses as they sang. Legolas and Laurenor took up the hearty song and led the elves of Mirkwood in song. Rainiel and Thranduil followed suit, and soon all of the elves were dancing in a clearing next the seated areas. Elven minstrels and musicians took up the tune and carried on the merriment with endless song. 

Legolas swept Lotórie off her feet and danced with her in his arms, floating gracefully to the cheerful tunes. Rainiel and Erutunín and Laurenor and Istawen found each other amidst the dancing crowds and danced the night away until minuial. 

Lotórie managed to wriggle herself out expertly of Legolas’ arms and ran over to Thranduil who also swept her up in his arms in a dance. Legolas went over to stand next to Aní who was not dancing.

“Aní, why have you not asked any of the maidens who so eagerly look up on you to dance,” Legolas chided.

“For the same reason that you do not Legolas.” Aní received a slight poke in his ribs from his uncle. “Anyhow, look over there. See? All those maidens only have eyes for you my fair prince.” 

Legolas rolled his eyes. Aní smiled pleased with himself. It was too easy to annoy his uncle. 

“But I spy many a maiden looking dreamily at you and with good reason, you are within marrying age, are you not,” Legolas observed. “I myself am a ripe old bachelor, way past the marrying age. I think that any hopes of being my wife have long past.”

“That may be true Legolas, but I can assure you that any of these maidens would be content with one night of thrills! Uncle Laurenor was certainly right in pointing out your passionate past time, “ Aní teased.

Legolas chuckled, “Quiet and elusive you may appear to be, but I have begun to hear stories of how you have managed to use your feigned detachment to entangle maidens in games of mutual consent. In fact, one young maiden told me so herself. She thoroughly enjoys the escapades you both engage in.” 

Aní’s fist flew to punch his uncle in the arm, but Legolas swiftly maneuvered himself out of the way and grabbed the hand of nearby elf maiden. “As always follow in my lead, it will prove most fruitful,” Legolas hummed, winking devilishly at his nephew as he whisked the blushing ellyn away in dance.

Aní threw his arms up in the air in his accustomed manner, then turned from one side to the other, hoping that no one would be looking his way. To his sweet disappointment he glanced directly at an attractive elf maiden. He walked over to her and bowed his head slightly. With a charming smile he asked, “Hiril nîn, will you do me the honor?” The maiden nodded happily and before she knew it she too was off dancing the night away with a most sought after dance partner.

Mithrandir sat on a comfortable chair that had been brought out to him, looking on with much amusement. He had been moved by Thranduil’s children’s rendition of Êl a Edhel, the poignancy of the tale not lost on his long years. And in an instant the bitter sweetness of the song was transformed into the grandest of merriment. Mithrandir pondered that this was the gift of the Eldar, and that it was especially evident in wood elves. He dearly loved Thranduil and his people. He clapped along with the merry tunes and silently thanked the Valar that he was so loved by these wondrous folk. 

And this is what our hopes rest upon, and this is why we continue to fight for all that is good, the wizard mused internally. He looked out towards the crowd and his gaze fell upon a Vanyarin head of golden hair. Legolas was dancing merrily with a pretty elf, and the wide grins that flashed on their faces spoke volumes. Mithrandir hooted out loud to no one in particular, “My fair prince, your reputation is solidly earned!!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: In Tolkien’s world only married elves engage in sex it seems, and only at the certain phase of their marriage. They then pursue other more ethereal and spiritual pleasures. (This is based on what I have read of Tolkien and what has been written with respect to elven coitus by other authors who have studied Tolkien’s universe.) This is one change from the canon I enjoy, so canonical purists (if any are out there reading my little story), please forgive me if my story is AU. If I was immortal and beautiful I would have to engage in some sort of engaging merry activity (grins devilishly). I also subscribe to the view that what we know of the Laws and Customs of the Eldar, written by men is just that, a treatise written that includes mostly myths and misinterpretations.  
> \------------------------------------------------------------
> 
> (1) The idea for the song was influenced by the song Legolas sings in The Fellowship of the Ring in the chapter titled “Lothlórien.” Legolas hears the waters of the Nimrodel of Lothlórien and is inspired to retell the tragic tale of the elven lovers Nimrodel and Amroth through song.
> 
> (2) The song verses were entirely composed by Chathol-linn, a great poet indeed. I could not have put this song idea to verse as she has so eloquently accomplished. My hats off to you Chathol-linn, an elven minstrel in human disguise! 
> 
> ~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~  
> edain- the Second Born, man  
> ennor¬- Middle Earth  
> ithron- Sindarin equivalent for quenyan form of istar (s), which means wizard  
> minuial- dawn (morrowdim)  
> Hiril nîn- my lady


	7. The Stranger and the Horse

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our interloper finally arrives, but from where?
> 
> "...Early the next morn, the elves of Taur-nu-Fuin, the Forest under Nightshade, known as Mirkwood by the edain, were busily tending to matters of everyday life. There was no trace that a feast that had carried on into the dawn in the forest. Nor could one guess by looking at the elves going about their tasks that they had slept only a couple of hours. .."

Creation Song of Ilúvatar

Chapter 7: The Stranger and the Horse

Early the next morn, the elves of Taur-nu-Fuin, the Forest under Nightshade, known as Mirkwood by the edain, were busily tending to matters of everyday life. There was no trace that a feast that had carried on into the dawn in the forest. Nor could one guess by looking at the elves going about their tasks that they had slept only a couple of hours. 

Mithrandir looked down upon the coming and going of the Silvan folk from Thranduil’s living quarters. These were a hearty folk. To live so close to Shadow, enduring the filth of Sauron at their doorstep—yet holding to their joy and love of life. From his comfortable vantage point, Mithrandir could just make out the patterns of the Misty Mountains. Though he had to look through much darkness to spy the peaks. 

Indeed, Thranduil’s quarters were one of the few built in such a way that took advantage of the trees and the hill beneath them. In the large trees that rose from the face of the steep hill a number of secluded telain, connected by removable ladders and bridges housed most of Thranduil’s family. Around some of the roots of these tree homes, rooms had been constructed much like Hobbit holes, using the roots of the trees and stone of the mountain as the walls, halls, ceilings and floors of the rooms. Though mostly used as utility rooms such as kitchens, places of healing for those in need of seclusion, or storage, some were private chambers in which Thranduil’s family—or any Elf for that matter—could escape to in times of need, but mostly it was for Thranduil and his kin.

This was not done in favor of kingly hierarchies; rather, it was done to protect those most sought after by Shadow. For, truth be told, Thranduil and those close to him were frequent targets of Khamûl, commander of the Nazgûl sent to reoccupy Dol Guldur. Though Thranduil’s children protested, the Elvenking and his people would have it no other way. Others were free to build their homes in such a manner but the children of the Third Clan, the Elves of the Wood, preferred to live in the trees or on the ground in simple homes in the open Wood. The Tawarwaith, discriminated against as simple and unwise in the ways of the First and Second clans of the Eldar, were indeed wise and deep in the ways of harmony and constancy. 

Mithrandir was as still as stone. The only movement was the smoke rising from his pipe as he sat and contemplated that which was to come. Thranduil sat in silent companionship, meditating, gathering the whispers of Mirkwood.

Suddenly, Mithrandir, stood, revealing none of the aches and pains of old bones, placing his hands on his hips. With humble authority the Wizard announced, “Thranduil, I would like Lotórie and Aníralendon to accompany me on an outing. I already checked with Laurenor and Istawen and they are pleased with the idea. Would you grant your permission?”

Thranduil, distracted from his own thoughts, focused his eyes on the present scene. “Of course.. of course, Mithrandir, I see no reason why to discourage it” he fumbled a bit. “I know you would not lead them into a dangerous situation, some mischief maybe, but danger- no,” the wood-elf king responded, regaining himself.

“Then it is settled, I will go fetch Aní and Lotórie and be on our way. Do not expect us back until this evening, and can you please send for some provisions to be readied for us?” 

“It is done,” Thranduil responded. The two climbed down a ladder to the earth below, making their way to the river, crossing over the bridge. Thranduil smiled the entire time. While Mithrandir struggled to sit during the evening’s feast, on this day he sauntered around like an elfling. As the two made their way to the stables— more like simple structures that housed horses who were not corralled in—the two found Aní and Lotórie standing with the horses that would accompany them on the day’s excursion with Mithrandir, proper supplies in tow. 

“So sure were you two that I would give permission to your outing with Mithrandir,” Thranduil asked his grandchildren, his amusement enduring. 

Thranduil’s grandchildren nodded happily. Aní helped Lotórie mount her horse and then led Mithrandir’s steed to him. “Of course Adar, we could think of no reason you would prohibit this little adventure of ours,” Aní responded. Once Mithrandir was mounted, Aní jumped on his horse.

Thranduil replied, raising his eyebrow, “Adventure you say? My gut begins to warn me that you are all privy to some knowledge that I am not aware of!”

Lotórie and Aní glanced at each other, grinning widely, and then looked over to Mithrandir who simply raised an eyebrow, mimicking the king as he mounted his horse. “Do not worry Thranduil, there is no danger involved as you yourself have acknowledged.”

And with that, Mithrandir’s steed turned around and trotted off on the Elf Path deeper into the forest. The other two horses grunted and neighed, gladly following suit. The two young elves turned to their grandfather and waved. Lotórie shouted back, “Please tell uncle Legolas that I will be back soon and not to worry. I have Aní and Mithrandir to protect me!”

Aní was flattered by Lotórie’s acknowledgement of him as a warrior that could protect her. He sat up straighter on his mount and attempted to look as dignified and warriorly as possible.

Mithrandir assured, “Your warrior skills will not be needed today young Aní, but your carefree youthfulness will be in much demand.” 

The threesome rode out at a leisurely pace and not long after leaving the populated forest area, happened upon a clearing along side the path. At first the clearing appeared to be no wider than a horse’s length, but as the riders entered it expanded into a wide field, filled with yellow flowers and wild grass that reflected the sun’s light. In the middle stood a large beech tree that provided ample shade from the radiant sun. 

“Let us set up under that tree”, the istar announced, but before Aní or Lotórie could object he added, “This old man needs some shade. You two can frolic as much as you like in the sunlight.” The two elves busied themselves setting out the food and drinks they had brought, and unrolled a pillow for the wizard. As soon as everything was ready the trio sat down to enjoy their brunch of bread, honey and fruit.

***

“Do you hear that?” Aní asked.

Lotórie nodded in acknowledgement. The elves could hear what sounded like a horse approaching them, but yet unseen. Their ears were alert as the sound came closer, but the source of the sound remained hidden from view by the dense forest. Suddenly a horse emerged from behind the dense thicket of trees. Aní gasped, it was like no other horse he had seen. 

It had a strong solid neck and head, and equally sturdy yet lean body, not bulky, built for speed, but smaller than the few horses used by the wood elves. The coloring of the horse was just as marvelous. Its face and snout were the color of winter snow that faded into a dark brown at the ears and cheeks. The rest of the body was the same dark brown. 

The horse bore none of the conventional riding gear of mortals, and it was obviously not an elven horse. The mane and the tale of the horse were short, unlike the long hair prevalent on elven bread horses. It was a curious creature, and turned its ears intently towards the picnickers. It came to a slow stop a couple of feet before them and shook its head vigorously. The horse paused to look at his audience and snorted through exposed teeth, pawing the ground with his hooves. He certainly was trying to communicate with them.

Aní stood up slowly and spoke soothingly to the horse. The horse’s ears turned towards the source of the sounds and twitched. He stepped towards the male figure cautiously, eyeing him carefully. Aní made sure he did not stare the horse in the face, and tried to maintain his shoulder towards the horse. He wanted to gain its trust. The horse extended his right hoof forward and stretched out his neck towards Aní. The horse’s nostrils flared as he tried to catch the strange creature’s scent. Meanwhile, Aní was inching closer to the horse stopping if there was any twitch he could sense in the horse’s sensitive muscles. The horse lowered its head and whinnied lightly. Aní slowly turned his body towards the horse until he was directly facing the imposing creature. Aní’s gaze was turned down.

“If you will grant me permission,” Aní spoke softly, “I would like to meet you directly.” The horse neighed again softly, and Aní brought his eyes up slowly to meet the horse’s gaze.” Elf and horse looked into each other’s eyes, contemplating one another. Aní spoke other words in Sindarin with the horse, intermingled with Silvan phrases. The horse approached Aní and nudged the elf slightly in the chest. Aní slowly reached up to the horse’s neck and began patting it. He slowly let his hands wander up to the horse’s cheeks and ultimately was able to place his hand gently on the horse’s forehead. 

The horse nudged Aní’s hand as if trying to get the elf to pet him. Aní obliged, “Ah, so you like this don’t you.” The horse blew air in Aní’s face causing the elf to laugh. “So you are playful too?”

The horse looked over curiously towards Mithrandir and Lotórie. Aní motioned them to come forward and not surprisingly the horse headed to Mithrandir and rubbed his nose on the wizards shoulder. Mithrandir chuckled, “This steed knows a friend when he sees one.” 

Lotórie approached the stallion and rubbed its neck. The horse grunted appreciatively. “Whom do you think he rides with,” she asked.

“I do not know, but I sense that this creature is trying to communicate something with us,” the wizard answered.

The horse neighed louder this time and turned his head towards the patch of woods he had materialized from. He walked slowly and deliberately towards the wall of trees, turning to look at his newfound friends. He tossed his head and stomped the ground. Mithrandir followed the horse, motioning for Aní and Lotórie to remain behind. The horse turned back and proceeded into the forest with Mithrandir following closely behind. 

There besides an old tree Mithrandir looked upon what appeared to be a woman. She was sitting on the ground, her body leaning against the tree. She wore dark blue muddied shirt, brown faded pants stained with blood, and had a large woolen blanket the color of the night sky wrapped loosely around her. The young woman was clutching a small blade in one hand and pressing down on her leg with the other. Her hair was messily gathered at the nape of her neck.   
The obviously weakened and injured stranger had not noticed Mithrandir. The wizard was slowly backing away when he bumped into two bodies that had mysteriously appeared behind him. Lotórie let out a yelp upon seeing the woman that had been blocked from her sight of vision by Mithrandir’s back. The sound startled the stranger and she looked in terror towards the unknown people.

Lotórie cried softly to Mithrandir, “She’s hurt-- look she bleeds!”

The elfling’s voice seemed to frighten the stranger further, causing her to try to stand up. Aní noticed that this movement caused her great pain, “Please don’t move. Let us help you.”

The woman nudged her way to a standing position against the tree and held her blade out as menacingly as possible towards the group. 

The woman cried, her voice hoarse, as Aní tried to approach her.

Aní turned confused towards Mithrandir, “What is she saying. She seems very afraid of me?”

Suddenly the woman took her blade to her own neck and attempted to cut herself, but Aní was quicker. He caught her hand as she had begun to cut at her skin. Blood trickled from the area she had managed to cut, but the injury was minor. The woman looked at Aní with obvious surprise. The speed of his movement rendered her motionless. The grip of her hand weakened and the blade fell from her hand. Aní swiftly caught the blade and tossed it aside. 

The injured stranger looked in horror towards the young elf and murmured the same strange words. Her energy spent, she collapsed into Aní’s arms, tears flowing from her eyes. But her eyes remained fixed on Aní, even as they clouded over.

Mithrandir appeared quietly and placed his hand on the stranger’s forehead and laid an incantation of heavy sleep upon her. The woman struggled against the sleep that overtook her but was soon overwhelmed by her tired soul’s need for it. Mithrandir motioned for Aní to follow him back with the young woman to where they had been eating. Lotórie and the horse followed suit.

“This horse must be her companion,” Lotórie announced.

“You are probably right,” Mithrandir responded. “And he led us to her. I think he realizes that he need not fear us, but I worry about this other young one. She was evidently terrified of us.”

The group returned to their picnic site and Mithrandir reached in his robes, removing a bag that contained healing herbs. “Lotórie, place these in the boiling water and let it sit a moment.” The elfling dumped the assortment of herbs into the boiling water, waiting for further instructions. 

“Aní make sure you uncover her wound,” Mithrandir commanded. Aní cut the material around the wounded thigh with the stranger’s blade he had recovered. 

Mithrandir continued with his instructions, “Let the water cool. Give it a swirl to help it along. Yes that’s good Lotórie. Now Aní take the warm water, pour it on this, and clean the wound. Rinse and repeat, but do not put the rag into the kettle.” Aní followed the wizard’s directions and gently cleansed the wound on the stranger’s leg. 

“Lotórie, take some of the leaves and massage them with your hands until they turn into a thick pulp. Now make sure you cover the wound with them. Good, and spread some more pulp around the wound. Aní cover up the wound with this clean cloth.”

Aní caught the cloth that Mithrandir tossed to him. “Press it tightly against the skin. We want the cloth to adhere well to the drying herbs.” Aní pressed the material for a couple of moments before Mithrandir nodded his head to release the cloth. He approached the woman who was laid delicately on the ground, and checked the cloth. “The cloth has sealed over the wound. This bandage should hold until we return to your grandfather’s healers.” 

The elves and Istar packed their belongings and readied their horses. The strange horse watched them patiently as he stood near his sleeping companion. “I will carry the stranger with me,” declared Aní. Mithrandir nodded his head in silent approval and helped Aní carefully settle the sleeping stranger in front of him on his horse. 

Mithrandir then looked to the riderless horse, “You will not bear her burden on this short journey, but make haste and follow us, for we need to get her to help quickly.”

The horse grunted in apprehension and lined up behind the wizard’s horse. Mithrandir looked around to make sure nothing was forgotten. “Let us be off then.” 

The horses galloped back in the direction of Thranduil’s Halls, which were a short ride away. The sleeping stranger was not disturbed by the elven horse’s strides as its cadence were as effortless and soft as whispers. Aní noticed that the horse held its own, even if smaller, stretching its limbs, and keeping pace with the other horses. A day full of strangeness, Aní thought to himself.

The group reached the Great Gates, unmounted, and handed the horses over to waiting elves. Mithrandir spoke quietly to the strange stallion and introduced him to an elf that took the horse along with the others to the stables. As the horse was led away, he turned and let out a loud neigh, shaking his head, as if letting his companion know he would be near by.

Rainiel came running to them, after seeing them approach from her talan, and sensing that something was amiss. She looked at her son and saw that he was holding a figure. “What has happened? Who is this?” 

“We found her in the forest, mother, along with what we presume is her steed. She is injured and is in need of the healers.”

“Very well then,” Rainiel replied, “let us go there at once.” She glanced questioningly at Mithrandir and back at the stranger held in her son’s arms.

“Do not worry Rainiel, neither your son nor Lotórie were in any danger. And this young maiden in your son’s arms, I fear needs help before we dare find out more of her story.” Mithrandir’s voice was calm, and did not betray concern other than for the stranger’s health.

Rainiel led her son up a series of ladders up the side of the hills towards the healer’s station. Upon entering, one of the healers took the stranger from Ani’s arms and placed her on a readied cot. The healer delicately uncovered the wound, clearing away the herbs in order to better look at the wound. 

“Whatever wounded this woman was not an arrow. The weapon seems to have been driven through her body, exiting the other side. I have not seen such a wound in all my ages of healing,” the elf exclaimed.

Another healer assisted in removing the stranger’s clothes to inspect her more closely. “Luckily, whatever caused the wound did not hit bone.” Healing water stewed in herbs was used to thoroughly clean the wound. The healers wrapped the wounded area with clean cotton-like material. The stranger was laid softly back into bed. The healer placed her hands over the covered wound and began softly chanting words of healing. A glow emanated from her hands that warmed the wound with healing powers. She continued in this state for the remainder of the day.

Aní had not left the room. He felt vested in the recovery of the stranger. Though he knew they would have to manually close the wound, the healer’s power was doing much to advance the healing process. Rainiel returned to the healing quarters in the evening. “Aní, it is time to go. You can return tomorrow. You need your rest. It has been a strange day.” 

Aní stood up next to his mother and kissed her check, “I will do as you ask, although I feel wrong leaving her here.”

“Do not worry, the healers will look after her.” 

“I know Naneth, I know. Let us go home and ready for bed. I look forward to a deep sleep tonight.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Telain- wooden platform in trees (pl form of talan)  
> Tawarwaith- Silvan (Sindarin)


	8. The Warrior Maiden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: My original OC has changed from the original story. I found the construction of the original OC, Lenmana, to be too much of an Indian Mary Sue if you will. While certainly, the OC of Luzen can be labeled a Mary Sue, her central use in this story—maintaining the original thread in the original version—is to explore the philosophical systems of nature based cultures (and a little something cute here and there). Much of how I see the wood elves, their culture, practices, etc. are as nature based peoples. It is fascinating to explore how nature or earth based cultures from middle earth and from our own world would interact and compare notes if you will.

Creation Song of Ilúvatar

 

Chapter 8: The Warrior Maiden

 

***

That night, vivid dreams visited many sleepers in Mirkwood. Mithrandir was trying to sort through the many dreams that flowed through his consciousness on their way to their home. In particular, Mithrandir was trying to locate the dreams of one stranger, in the hopes of finding out more of her story. If found he knew her dreams would be telling as she was under the spell of elven medicine. 

As he searched the flowing rivers of dreams that traversed the night, Mithrandir happened upon dark visions, lost in a blackness of confusion. Ah, I have found you, my stranger, but you are even lost in your dreams. But in this ethereal world I can guide you for an old body does not encumber me.

Mithrandir closed his eyes, concentrating on joining his mind with the stranger’s open unconsciousness. He cradled the stranger’s sleep with soothing and lyrical whispers, coaxing her unconscious to safely lead him to the road that brought her to where she was found. Slowly Mithrandir began to see figures and shapes running and yelling all about, but the vision was still scared. Mithrandir embraced the stranger, asking her to travel fully into the beginnings of her road.

***  
A woman held up a baby towards the rising sun in the east, softly chanting words the old wizard did not understand. The baby’s cries made their way through the first sun rays that spilled on the earth, both touching the baby’s forehead at the same instant. “The creator has blessed you with your child name- Ela”

The woman returned the baby to her mother’s arms. The mother gently brought the baby to her breast, whispering, “Ela.” The woman gazed down at the infant nursing, the little baby’s eyes shut, its little hand grasping its mother’s finger. A man approached the woman, stopping next to her to admire the infant lovingly held in her arms. The man smiled, placing a warm hand on the woman’s cheek and grabbing a hold of the infant’s fingers that instinctually wrapped themselves around his. Yet there was also a feint shadow of sorrow on the parents’ faces. 

The couple stood amongst the pines on a ridge of a high mountain, a sky island, and a vast desert valley below them. The sun’s rays filled the valley and mountains with its morning light. Behind them, the Chíhéne, red paint people, were tending to their daily tasks. There was a heaviness and sadness surrounding these people. The last number of years had proven to be painful. 

Ela was the daughter of Chato, a fierce Chiricahua warrior, and an equally fierce, beautiful and wise maiden, Góyą́ń[1]. The journeying Apache were sometimes foe of other indigenous nations, raiding the sedentary pueblos, and yet they were sometimes ally, joining in trading with the pueblos and sometimes assaults against the Spanish and Anglo armies. 

It was said that only the noblest and bravest warrior could win the beautiful Góyą́ń, whose name means one who is wise. The handsome warrior that won her heart was Chato. Both Chato and Góyą́ń were strong, holding to their people’s ways. Their union spread joy and hope amongst their people. Many hoped that the offspring of this union would be ensured a fighting chance at life, but many also secretly hoped that the medicine strong in the union would bring about new magic so needed during these harsh times. Such was the hope born in all who dared to love and seek out futures and in every child that awaited to be conceived during such dark times.

Mithrandir saw the child Ela grow. He saw much sorrow.

It was dusk, Ela’s band, the Chíhéne, was preparing for an evening meal. She had only moments before returned with her mother from picking wild berries that grew in the foothills of their mountain home with her mother. The fires crackled as dusk quickly approached. The quiet whispers and work of a measured and watchful existence dominated the camp. As the sun sank behind the westerly directions, a scout appeared breathless amongst the gathering. “They are coming, riding fast!”

Quickly women, children, and the elderly, mounted horses, or began running up into the protection of the juniper thickets at higher elevations. Warriors grabbed their weapons and ran or rode to meet the oncoming foreigners. Ela, like all the children were quietly crying, knowing from too young an age not to give away their location. Góyą́ń clutched her daughter, running, looking to hide. Strapped to her side, she carried a pistol and knife. If the strange foreigners found them, she would kill them first, and then take hers and her child’s life, for death at the hands of the Nakai-ye was brutal. 

But it was for not. They were safe. Later in the evening, what seemed an eternity to those hiding heard the animal-like calls of their warriors, calling to those that did not make it to retreat up to the stronghold in the mountains. And so Góyą́ń and Ela made their way to the stronghold. Goyan looked for her husband, but he had not returned. She turned to face the few warriors that limped home through the dense rockeries that protected them from unwanted eyes. Some carried the belongings of women and children who were found. Many other families were standing next to her looking for their loved ones. The grizzly faced chief walked up to the gathered families, informing them their loved ones had been killed by the Nakai. 

That evening, the soft wailing of the mourners drifted high to the mountaintops and on to creation. Goyan stared into the fire, preparing herself, singing quietly. Ela was snuggled sleeping in her aunt’s arms; yet too young to completely understand her father was not returning. Chato’s parents were beside themselves, wailing, grieving the loss of their son.

Goyan donned a ceremonial buckskin dress, gathered some items, slipping into the night, quietly tracking the Nakai to their encampment. There she saw the group drinking. She spied the leader. She had listened intently as those that returned described him, his ruthlessness. She waited, knowing men’s customs quite well. The inebriated man tumbled into the darker night to relieve himself. This was the same man responsible for her parent’s death. She quietly slipped behind him, ending his life.

As dawn approached, she made her way back into the stronghold, going to Chato’s parents, presenting them with the dead man’s clothes and scalp. And Goyan’s people recognized her valor and courage for she like all their people were warriors, defending their lands from those who threatened to remove them. 

And so Ela, during her puberty ceremony, chose her future, to be a warrior, a trait not uncommon amongst those called Apache. Yet Ela’s grandfather was sad for the life that led to his granddaughter’s choice. His love was born out of a sort of desperation, for he knew he would not live to see her grow old. Worse, he feared that his granddaughter would not live to see her own long years, and if she did, he knew that as things stood, those long years would be ones fraught with the sorrows of a conquered people. He gave the young girl a horse of her own, a beautiful steed, that had been stolen from a neighboring Mexican village—in exchange for the horses they had killed. 

Ela grew with her horse, and her riding skills were exceptional as was customary among the Apache. Apaches hunted and raided on horseback, using no saddle, and at times simple reigns. The dance performed by the horse and rider were spectacular. Riders would lean forward and off to the side, long hair streaming behind them, shooting at moving targets while their steeds danced in and out of danger. Many stories have been told of these horses and riders that move like roaring thunder across valleys, only to swiftly and quietly disappear into the crevices of the mountains, and leave no trace of their whereabouts. 

 

And so the young stranger grew loved despite the bitterness of life in her lands. As more was taken from her people, they took all that was sacred and hid it in the center of their hearts. Her family lovingly and patiently gifted the girl with all that was within them, hoping that this was enough to protect her from the pains that would surely try to kill her. 

As their situation worsened, Ela and other youth joined in the attacks against both the encroaching Mexican and Anglo armies. The luxury to choose was not hers, and so at the tender age of fourteen, she joined other able bodied youth, to aid in the survival of a way of life. She was a strong warrior of great medicine. She could detect the direction of the enemy by holding her arms in the air while singing, palms facing outward, turning in circles. Her palms would tingle and she knew the direction of their enemy. She had extensive medicinal knowledge of the herbs and minerals of her lands, putting this knowledge to extensive use during the extensive campaigns her people fought. For this power she became known as Luzen, leaving her childhood name Ela behind, a customary naming practice amongst the Chíhéne [2]. Yet, despite her power, her ability, the foreigners kept coming, like locust devouring crops. 

She witnessed the decimation of many indigenous people’s ways of life and many peoples themselves. Her first great encounter, as a young warrior, with horrendous sorrow was when her grandfather Mangas Coloradas was captured and killed by her enemy[3]. It was in this way that the loss of her father when she was 5 took on a renewed sadness. Her anger and confusion were shared by many of the young warriors, and rather than surrendering they continued on the warpath, evading capture, but suffering many hardships. 

One day, a message was brought to Luzen. Her mother Goyan had become very sick, and had returned to their stronghold. The last time Luzen had seen her mother she had been healthy, thin, but strong of spirit. Luzen had slipped quietly into their mountain home to spend the last moments with her mother. The medicine men were powerless against the shadow and evil that besieged the bodies of their patients. She returned to find a frail woman, lost in the grey lands between the world of the living and the spirit world. As her mother drew her final breaths, the storm clouds gathered outside let drop their precious waters. Goyan’s chest rose with breathe for a last time, and her soul was released from the hell that come to her homelands. 

Maybe now they are, mother and father, truly free, walking in fields of green in eternal summer. She wept with the skies this day, and the rain fell, attempting to soothe the grief that littered the ground below. Luzen wept and wept until her body was so tired from the sobs that coursed through her body that she could no longer cry. Sleep tried to find its way in her but she dismissed it and left the mountain stronghold bidding a bitter farewell to her place of birth. The Shadow had finally begun to literally consume them, and the passing of Goyan was greeted with great sorrow for many remembered her bravery. And like many other Indian youth, who held deep within them all that the elders could give, Luzen returned to roaming the great lands of the desert, hiding and running in the mountains that claimed them. 

Clashes with the foreign governments became more brutal, but with time, the roving bands of Apache were slowly killed or captured. Luzen learned that her uncle Cochise had died shortly after surrendering [4]. “Prisons can only kill us. I will not die that way,” she thought to herself. So the maiden went off with other warriors in search of an answer, vowing that they would not die in reservations like caged birds. But promises in Indian Country are fleeting, broken by the fires of conquest. 

The year was 1886 and many Indians faced a desperate reality. Poverty, hunger, death and removal were their only companions during these desolate times. One evening while washing the wounds of an injured companion, a battalion of soldiers from the ever-growing armies of this new country they were told they were in surrounded them. They were quickly tied and sent to far away country where these new settlers were more numerous. 

~~~  
“The whole world is coming,  
A nation is coming, a nation is coming,  
The eagle has brought the message to the tribe.  
The Father says so, the Father says so.  
Over the whole earth they are coming,  
The buffalo are coming, the buffalo are coming,  
The crow has brought the message to the tribe,  
The Father says so, the Father says so.” [5]  
~~~

Luzen was sick, pneumonia consuming her. She trudged along side fellow exiles. Some were enemies of old, but now they faced the same ends, and sought to aid each other. Luzen had fled the prison where she had been held and now she was fleeing to find protection along with a large number like her that included men, women, and children of a different tribe. If only she could make her way back safely across the Big Mountains. The world had turned upside down, but at least she had managed to find and steal back her horse, no longer a young stallion. How the horse had managed to end up near her was a mystery to some, but for Luzen, she believed her faithful companion had followed when they shipped her away, tracking his beloved friend. 

One cold morning as the group fled west to safety, traveling along the banks of a creek, they found themselves surrounded by an army of qochata . Luzen huddled alongside the women and children, wrapping her woolen blanket tightly around her body. A couple of horses mingled with the weak, nudging life into their master’s emaciated bodies. Her horse had wandered towards the stream, attempting to drink its freezing waters, and with the approach of the army he stood, looking bravely at the mass of armed men gathered around him. 

An elder chief and his advisors of this tribe sat with the officers of the foreign army, attempting to come to a peaceful solution, but shots rang out in the sky and Indians fell bloodied. Warriors gathered to fight but they were overwhelmed, and 300 men, women and children lay dead or dying there by the flowing waters of the creek [6]. They never made it to the Big Mountains. 

Luzen was shot in the thigh, and staggered towards the creek where the stallion stood unmoved, unscathed and waiting. What she saw around her was unspeakable. Babes clutched in their mother’s arms, riddled with the fire of the qochata. Old folks crumpled over besides sons and daughters, blood staining the deep snow around them a sorrowful red. Blood flowed from her own body, and she could feel her essence being drained, but she continued on, reaching her trusted friend.

In the midst of the commotion the young maiden went unnoticed. Luzen thought to herself that maybe she was but a ghost and now invisible to those who would kill her. She raised herself upon her horse, aided by the rocks below her feet. Horse and rider waded into the creek and disappeared into a forest that only moments before had not been there. Her head began to cloud and the sky above her grew dark. Now was the time for her to return from whence she came. Her weakened body could no longer ride, and she tumbled off her mount, landing harshly on the hard earth. 

“This world I no longer care for. I am lost and shall never be found,” Luzen exclaimed. As she looked up from where she had fallen she saw a hole in the earth. “A cave,” she murmured. After all, her people had come to this earth from caves below many moons ago [7]. Yes this is what creation stories had told, “and to this underground world I return, through the mouth of the earth, to places unknown, maybe I will find peace. Creator, will you grant this to me, to return to a place where hope still remains, but I fear I am lost! I fear I am lost.”

Luzen could not move, for too much of her blood had escaped her body through the gaping hole in her thigh. “Am I to come this close to peace to be so mercilessly denied it?” Hot tears ran down her cheeks, and frustrated grunts escaped her weak mouth. Suddenly, she felt something take a hold of her clothing, dragging her. She looked up to find her four-legged companion dragging her towards the cave. She let her body go limp and gave into her life. “My brave mount, you follow me where there may be only darkness, but let us hope that together the light shall find us.”

***

Tears were rolling down the old wizards cheeks. He dared not look away from the scenes that flashed before him, and the last Mithrandir saw was the horse dragging the body of the stranger into the cave, and then all went dark. Mithrandir realized that somewhere in this bodiless journey he had come to understand the words and thoughts uttered by the stranger named Luzen. Although he understood them he could not speak them. Understanding is after all very different than speaking. His thoughts wandered back to the stranger. The darkness has claimed you, my lost soul, but harken now to the light! There is hope yet to be found and peace to be sought. Return from the shadow and bring your light forth!

The reason for her appearance was not yet clear to him, but the Valars’ intent was certainly never straightforward. 

“Mithrandir,” a voice called from behind the old wizard, “is everything well with you?”

The Istar turned to find Legolas looking over him with obvious concern. He was not ashamed of the tears that stained his face, nor of the sorrow evident in his wrinkled countenance. After a momentary pause, the old man answered, “What is it little lassë ? Is all well with you?” 

“I was troubled by a dream and came to seek your counsel, but now I see that maybe I acted selfishly for I am not the only soul troubled this night.” 

“Nonsense,” Mithrandir exclaimed, “ ‘twas not selfish of you at all. In fact your being here is as it should be. Please do tell, how has this dream burdened you for you wear the heaviness on your face.”

Legolas cocked his head to the side and looked at the wizard appreciatively, “But I do not want to burden one so already burdened with my own dilemmas.” 

Mithrandir waved away Legolas’ words and patted the seat next to his bed for the elf to come sit in. Legolas obliged him and sat himself next to Mithrandir.

The elf spoke softly, “I will share with you if only you share with me, old friend.” The wizard nodded his head in agreement. 

Legolas continued, “I am troubled by the arrival of the stranger, Mithrandir. That is my dreams have been wrought this night with confusion and darkness, and I felt a terrible sadness seep into our world. But strange indeed it is for it is a mortal sadness akin to our own.” 

Legolas paused, and looked into the wizard’s knowing eyes before continuing, “In my dream I saw the young woman riding her steed down a precarious cliff side. Rocks and dirt tumbled about them, and suddenly from the summit of the mountain came more riders, dressed in her manner, whooping and galloping down the face of the mountain. But they were galloping madly into darkness and I yelled at them to stop their charge, but they heeded me not, for I knew they heard me because several of them looked towards me. They galloped, horse and rider as one, and they plunged into a black chasm in the earth below them, all engulfed by the darkness. ”

Mithrandir sighed, “Yes green lassë, we have been met by a terrible sorrow on this past day, and it comes with the stranger. But we must not fear it, it bears no malice. But your dream is interesting yes. Was it a hole in the ground they ran into Legolas?”

“Yes,” Legolas answered, “much like a cave opening in the earth.”

“Ah,” the wizard answered, “there is always hope.”

Mithrandir, seeing the confusion in the young elf’s face continued, “You see Legolas, caves are sacred for this young maiden and the lands she comes from. For these people arose onto their earth through the mouths of a cave, their creation stories tell that they dwelled in underground worlds until one day they were led to the world above ground, and were thus born onto earth. This return to the underground is important. I would dare guess that somehow they flee to the only place of safety they know- inside.” 

The wizard continued rapidly, as the thoughts in his head spilled out, “They return to their beginning, to the inside, the inside of the earth, the inside of themselves. There to seek hope, there to find safety, there to live again.” 

Legolas touched his hand to his heart, and sighed softly. “How come you to know all this? I am not surprised but curious all the same.”

“I visited her dreams on this night and much was revealed through the scenes that I visited, but much more I learned from the stories that revealed themselves silently. It comforts me to know that the goodness of life, although weak, is never defeated,” the Istar responded.

The wizard sighed knowingly, “Erú, there is always a way for life isn’t there?”

Legolas gasped, “Ilúvatar, what does the One have to do in all of this?” Legolas caught himself, answering his own question quietly. “The One has to do with everything.”

“Yes my dear Legolas, you speak the truth.” Mithrandir grew quiet, examining the quiet elf that sat next to him. Understanding beginning to grow, for Thranduil and his children had a tumultuous relationship with the second-born. In Thranduil’s children there was at once a reluctance and fascination when it came to the edain, but for Thranduil, he limited his dealings with mortal men. It was after all the treachery of a second-born that led to the death of his beloved Nyére. But in Thranduil’s children remained Nyére’s love for the edain. Mithrandir began to understand that this stranger’s coming was somehow tied to this hurt.

Legolas then urged the old wizard to speak of the troubles that had caused him sorrow. Mithrandir then retold the story of Luzen to Legolas, and both wizard and elf greeted the rising sun, immersed in the sorrowful tale.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Goyan, or Gouyen, is based on a real life Chiricahua Apache. See some information on her: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Gouyen   
> [2] Luzen is loosely based on a number of female Apache warriors, namely Lozen and Dahteste. See here for more background on these amazing women warriors: http://www.qualiafolk.com/2011/12/08/lozen-and-dahteste/  
> [3] Mangas Coloradas was in fact a chief of the Mimbreño Chiricahua Apaches who is famous for his resistance towards settlers that were intent on removing Indians from their lands.  
> [4] Cochise, nephew of Mangas Coloradas, is another famous Apache Indian who took on the warpath against the United States. Following the death of Mangas Coloradas, he continued in his resistance and evaded capture by the U.S. army for over 10 years, finding refuge in his refuge in the Dragoon Mountains of Eastern Arizona. Finally, he surrendered after the creation of the Chiricahua reservation and died shortly after.   
> [5] This a song composed for the ghost dance. For a description of the ghost dance see: http://www.pbs.org/weta/thewest/resources/archives/eight/gddescrp.htm  
> [6] This massacre was based off of many that occurred during this time. One of these was the massacre at Wounded Knee occurred on December 29, 1890 in South Dakota. For a compelling account of American Indian History read Bury My Heart at Wounded Knee, by Dee Brown.   
> [7] In the original version of this story the OC was named Lenmana and was half Apache/Hopi. I am keeping the Hopi version of the creation story as it keeps a theme going throughout the story. However, it is only loosely based on the Hopi creation story so as to respect that stories origins.
> 
> Ela-earth  
> lassë -leaf   
> Qochata- white man  
> Edain-second born, men


	9. Caves

Creation Song of Ilúvatar

Chapter 9: Caves

The morning came, the rays of the sun faint in the shadow that crept forwards to meet the light. In the nestraden sammath, healing chambers, a little elfling was busily attending to the sleeping stranger. Lotórie was vested in the woman’s healing, and decided that although her contributions were small, they were important nonetheless. She had cleaned and combed through the unruly and dirty hair, arranging it in neat braids. She aided the healers with the stranger’s first cleansing. Lotórie had even borrowed some of her mother’s fragrant creams to rub onto the woman’s hardened skin.

As Lotórie vigorously rubbed the cream into the skin, Aní had appeared. He watched his cousin take to her task with much seriousness. He called to her, “May I help you in any way tithen pen?”

Lotórie smiled at her older cousin and motioned him over to her station next to the stranger. Aní pulled up a small stool, and sat. Lotórie dabbed a good amount of cream in his palm and pointed to the woman’s covered legs.

“I am sure her legs desperately need some soothing. Whey don’t you do that part while I finish with her upper body,” the little elf suggested innocently.

Aní opened his mouth to protest, but decided against it. Lotórie now wore a huge smile as she felt she was truly aiding the woman. She glanced to Aní who studied the sheets that covered the woman’s legs. “Aní you really don’t need to concentrate that hard! Just do what I am doing!” Lotórie then rubbed the cream more vigorously in exaggerated strokes upon the woman’s arms.

Aní laughed, “Your guidance elloth nín is most helpful.” Aní delicately lifted the sheets away from the woman’s legs, carefully letting the sheets settle at her thighs. He glanced around inquisitively and noticed that the healers were not looking his way. He turned back to his task and grasped an all too thin leg in his hand and began to rub the velvety cream onto the lower part of the leg. What Aní thought could be a potentially embarrassing situation turned into a deed of pity. The young woman was clearly emaciated, and as Aní ran his hands over her legs, he felt the sharp bone meet too closely against the skin. Scars were visible upon the legs. Clearly this stranger had seen and met much during her life.

Aní studied her face, his curiosity as to the stranger’s age piqued by the tell tale marks on her legs. The face appeared young, but yet there were lines weathered on the face, which hinted otherwise. The face was sunken and the bones protruded unhealthily. Aní noted that the starvation apparent on her features were all too obvious. The stranger’s cheekbones were pronounced and set high near the eyes, unlike many mortals he had seen of Esgaroth. Her lips were dried and cracked, swollen from exposure to harsh elements. The stranger’s arms were merely bones covered in skin. If Lotórie noticed the stranger’s emaciated state, Aní could not tell, for the elfling was lovingly massaging the stranger’s hands, carefully attending to the hand on the side of the injured shoulder. 

What Aní could not know was that while Lotórie massaged the silken lotion into the stranger’s skin, she secretly hoped that she was somehow passing life to the body that lay like a cadaver before her. Lotórie had never seen a dead body up close, but she imagined that this was a much to near rendering of death. 

Aní felt a hand on his should and he looked up from his task to find Legolas behind him, flanked by Mithrandir. The wizard chuckled, “I fear we are beginning to crowd the healing quarters. This stranger is certainly a popular maiden with the royal family.”

A healer near by the group softly countered, “Tis not an intrusion but a welcome presence.” She glanced tenderly at the young stranger and whispered, “For the life that dwells within those frail bones is most in need of love and hope.”

Legolas spoke out loud what Lotórie and Aní hadn’t. “It pains me to see that her skin covers only bone. How long did she endure in such a state?”

Mithrandir, who had moved to stand over the end of the bed replied solemnly, “For much too long, I am afraid. I would dare say that this stranger has never known what a stomach full of good things feels like.” The wizard then directed his attention to the healer. “Any indications that she will awaken?”

The healer grasped her skirt tightly beneath her, looking openly into the Istar’s eyes. “We have done all we can and the wound is healing well, but the other ravages inflicted upon this soul we know not. If she doesn’t awaken soon there may be little hope she will survive. She needs food.”

This last statement was obvious to all. Legolas went over to stand behind Lotórie. The elfling had stopped tending to her task and sat motionless on her stool. Silent tears rolled down her cheeks.

Legolas crouched besides his niece, wiping the tears from her reddened cheeks. “I know these words we share are sorrowful. We elves do not see such hardships. Ours are of another kind.” Legolas whispered this last phrase, his gaze looking beyond the walls of the room they were in. 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~  
While it was true that starvation was not common amongst the Eldar, Legolas had seen it as tool used by Shadow. More than not, though, the Elves of Taur-nu-Fuin, were only too painfully familiar with death. For they, unlike the other kingdoms of Elves, dwelt nearest Shadow. And unlike Imladris and Lothlorien, no ring of power protected them in Mirkwood. 

Indeed Legolas, and those around him had lost many. Not only had he lost his mother, he had also lost friends, lovers, and other family to the growing presence of darkness. Too many were called to be warriors. Too many pledged themselves to this path. For Legolas, this pledge meant he chose the path of a warrior, choosing bachelorhood.

Yet despite the darkness the wood elves, the Eldar of the Third Clan, were a fierce people, holding fast to joy. And they were a hardy folk, who chose to follow the path of cheer and not loose the wonder of living in harmony with nature. But this closeness with nature also mean not shielding the small number of young from the perils and sorrows of their times.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Lotórie let out a quiet shudder, bringing Legolas’ attention back to the present moment. “It is better you know this things honestly elloth nín from your family for we can embrace and share the sorrow together.” 

Lotórie nodded her little head, and glanced at her uncle through tearful eyes. She wiped the tears away and furrowed her eyebrows in understanding. Turning back to the stranger she continued her task of massaging the stranger’s arms.

Aní had stopped his ministrations and listened quietly to all that had passed. Legolas then turned his attention to Aní. “You have not eaten breakfast Aní, let me help you so you can join your parents in the dining hall.”

Aní protested, “I can stay. Maybe we should send Lotórie to eat.”

Lotórie quietly answered, “I have already eaten Aní, early this morning, before I came here.”

“Well then that is settled, Aní, you should go eat, and can return when you are done. Or do you think me so incompetent that I could not massage cream correctly onto her legs?” Legolas added, trying to cheer up the somber atmosphere. 

Aní conceded, “No, Legolas, I have full faith in your abilities. I will leave you to your task. I am rather hungry.” Aní rubbed his stomach and groaned slightly, drawing forth chuckles from the elfling that sat next to him.

Mithrandir who had quietly listened to their conversation, jovially added, “Well then dear Aníralendon, I will join you too. My hunger is so voracious I might have to devour little elflings!” He fixed his eyes upon Lotórie and raised his eyebrows threateningly, eliciting more giggles from the young elf.

Aní and Mithrandir excused themselves from the room and headed to locate food in the kitchens, while Legolas continued with the duties previously assigned to Aní by Lotórie. Lotórie instructed her uncle, “Like this uncle, make sure you do it like this.” 

Legolas nodded and imitated his niece’s massaging motions on the stranger’s legs. The immediacy of the bone in the legs caused him to pause and look upon the stranger’s features. While Legolas did not hold the race of men responsible for his mother’s death, he could not help it when his resentment towards mortals snaked its way into his thoughts. Yet you are not of these lands strange adaneth. Such a sad story your life has been. I wonder if we will ever hear you tell it. 

“Uncle Legolas, I dreamt that she was alive and laughing. We were playing in a garden, naming flowers,” Lotórie quietly shared. “What do you think it means?”

“I am not sure. Only Irmo, master of all dreams, can truly know what truths our dreams claim,” Legolas responded, in turn seeking an answer for his own dreams. (1)

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

In the dining hall, Thranduil inquired as to the well being of the stranger. Mithrandir reported all that he knew, and proceeded to share the little knowledge he had gained about the stranger.

Thranduil inquired, “Have we found out yet where this stranger is from? Her manner of dress is undocumented and the horse found with her is like no breed I am knowledgeable of.”

Mithrandir acknowledged, “I do not think that we will find out these details until the stranger has awoken and we are able to communicate with her, although this is going to be a task.”

“Yes, you did mention that she speaks an unknown tongue. Mithrandir, when are you taking your leave of Mirkwood?”

“With your permission, King Thranduil, I would like to remain as long as I need to further my understanding of this stranger.” Mithrandir noted that the elven King was doing his very best not to reveal his conflicting feelings over having a mortal in his stronghold.

“Of course, old friend, stay as long as you wish. You know you are always welcome here, and to tarry as long as you need. You will greatly aid in unraveling the mystery this stranger has brought.” 

Laurenor gasped, “Ai, how could I have forgotten?”

The table’s occupants turned to look at Laurenor who wore a look of consternation on his face. “I, I forgot to share a most important detail with you Ada!”

Thranduil sighed knowingly, “Pray share what ever information it is.”

Laurenor spat out rapidly, “Well, turns out Faelon had sent out patrols to the area where the young woman was found, and it was in fact near one of the smaller cave openings on the western side of the hill. They found some horse tracks leading out of the cave to the very spot where the stranger was found!”

Thranduil annoyingly eyed his oldest son, “Thank Eru that you have decided to remember this most important information, but Aní had already informed me of this cave, for he is very familiar with the area.”

Laurenor looked sheepishly at his father and shrugged his shoulders. “Well I am glad I remembered anyway.”

“As am I ion nín”

“Strange,” Rainiel added, “that cave leads no where. Is it not a favorite location for many a young elf to go frolic in?” Rainiel was now looking pointedly at her son, who was busy eyeing the food on his plate. She added dryly, “I imagine that is why my son is so familiar with this cave.” Rainiel wondered silently if her pointed words had more to do with her attempting to cope with the strange feelings having a mortal maiden so close to her family.

Erutunín sensed his wife’s conflict, so he attempted to lighten her mood. “Dear wife,” he whispered quietly in her ear, “you seem to enjoy the embarrassment you cause our son a little too much. Shall I retell the many moments we spent in this miraculous cave on my visits from Imladris? Our son would be most fascinated.”

His words had been meant for Rainiel only, but Mithrandir was within earshot of Erutunín’s words and choked on his food from the laughter he tried to suppress.

Rainiel, hissed through her clenched teeth, and lanced a menacing look towards her husband. Aní was oblivious to the words exchanged between his parents as he dared not tear his gaze away from his food, believing the hiss was launched at him.

Mithrandir caught the King’s despondent look , “My King, have I ever thanked you and your family for so abundantly entertaining me whilst I am visiting your realm?”

Thranduil bowed his head, “I would have it no other way my dearest friend, no other way.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> tithen pen-little one  
> elloth nín-my flower  
> Taur-nu-Fuin, the Forest under Nightshade, known as Mirkwood  
> ion nín-my son  
> adaneth- (mortal) woman
> 
>  
> 
> (1) Irmo is one of the seven Lords of the Valar, and is the master of visions and dreams. He dwells in Lórien and is spouse to Estë, one of the seven Valier. From the Silmarillion.


	10. By the Grace of Ilúvatar

“ _Without being noticed I silently turned away and stood by the river.  How long I stood there I do not know, but when I saw the warriors arranging for a council I took my place among them._

_That night I did not give my vote for or against any measure - without arms we could do nothing....Our chief, **Mangas Coloradas** , gave the order to start at once in perfect silence for our homes in Arizona, leaving the dead...._

_I stood still until all had passed, hardly knowing what I would do-I had no weapon, nor did I hardly wish to fight, nor did I contemplate recovering the bodies of my loved ones, for that was forbidden.  I did not pray, nor did I resolve to do anything in particular, for I had no purpose left.  I finally followed the tribe in silence, keeping just within hearing distance of the soft noise of their feet….”_

Geronimo- upon finding out his wife, his three children and mother had been slaughtered.

 

Chapter 10:  By the Grace of Ilúvatar

 

Many moons passed. While the stranger regained consciousness, she did not seem to gain awareness.  She appeared to be locked away somewhere inside, and yet her physical body began to function.  She cared not for the needs of her body, staring blankly at all who tended her or visited her bedside.  But the virtue of the young is strongest and by Lotórie’s hand the stranger began to taste of the food she desperately needed to survive. 

 

Lotórie tended to the stranger with the love that is gifted only by those so young, and unspoiled by the pains of the world.  The stranger would only eat from the efling’s hand.  If any other attempted to help her eat she would simply stare deep into some unknown place, lost to the world outside, and not acknowledge the presence of her intended helper. 

 

During these times, Mithrandir would come and sit with the stranger, speaking no words, and offering no assistance, seemingly disappearing into his own internal world.  Aní and Legolas had gone out on patrol to curtail the encroachment of spiders and other foul creatures along the southern border of Thranduil’s kingdom.  Shadow did not pause to contemplate the mysteries of life.

 

And many more moons passed, steered by the might of Tilion, strength returning to the stranger with each day _Anar_ rose, guided by _Arien_ (1).  Soon the stranger was walking about aided by a wooden staff gifted to her by the mysterious old man whose constancy she learned to respect.  Her leg was stiff but the healers made sure she did not let it further stiffen by keeping it immobile, and so she attempted to walk as much as possible.

 

Slowly, she had begun to look out from within herself, cautiously capturing the strangeness of the new world that unfolded before her.  In the child that tended her and the old man that silently offered her company she found solace, but did not want to venture beyond those boundaries.  She feared the unknown for the unknown as it had come to reveal itself during her lifetime had come to claim her life.

 

The Istar had ventured into communicating with the stranger and had assigned to himself the task of linguist and translator.  Lotórie joined in Mithrandir’s daily lessons with the stranger, adding her child-like innocence and fun.  They had established that her name was Luzen, and she had learned theirs in return.  Other useful words had been learned, and the Istar kept detailed records of everything. 

 

He had come to understand that the young woman spoke several tongues, and he narrowed down the names of the most prominent to Chíhéne (also the name of her people) and Spanish, though it seemed the latter was a language of her enemy.  As he wrote new words on his parchment, Luzen would look wide-eyed at the wizard.  She knew what writing was, but distrusted the act as she had seen the qochata <white man> use this way many times to bind promises.  Promises that were recorded in this way were easily broken and so Luzen distrusted the written word.

 

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 “Mithrandir,” Luzen softly spoke, the name rolling like easy waves off her tongue. “Food,” the woman rubbed her belly as Lotórie had shown her to signal that she was hungry. 

 

The wizard looked up from the parchment he had been absorbed in and glanced at Luzen, motioning for her to call upon one of the healers stationed near her.  Luzen appeared puzzled by the wizard’s request, and so the Istar rubbed his belly repeating “food” and pointed towards the healer.

 

Luzen’s eyes widened in apprehension and she called out the healer’s name, “Nierwen, food,”  rubbing her belly as she said food. 

 

Nierwen turned to Luzen, “Food, I will get you food.” She smiled at her patient and disappeared to retrieve her meal.

 

Luzen looked over to Mithrandir and he nodded his head, a warm smile gracing his face.  Food was brought to the stranger now known as Luzen, and the young maiden stared at her plate, pleased that she had been understood. 

 

She glanced towards the door and asked, “Lotórie?”  As soon as she mentioned the young elfling’s name, Lotórie rushed in through the door, and ran to Luzen who reached out her hand to greet the little elfling.

 

“Luzen, you look so wonderful today!” Lotórie giggled.

 

Luzen smiled at the elfling and pointed towards the plate placed next to her bed, “Food, Luzen hungry.”

 

“That is right Luzen,” Lotórie replied happily, nodding vigorously with encouragement. Luzen’s strange accent enthralled Lotórie. She would sit for hours with the mortal woman, playing with sounds. Luzen enjoyed the game as the little elfling would have her mimic words. Likewise Luzen would share words for the little strange being to repeat. They would giggle as they would trip upon unfamiliar sounds, different shapes of the tongue. It was only with the little girl that Luzen felt completely at ease. With her, the overwhelming sadness that threatened to drown her would ease, her chest breathing easier.

 

Not many other of the strange beings had visited her beyond the staff of what she recognized as healers, the old man, and the child. This absence did not go unnoticed by Luzen. On rare occasions, an older female would come and gather the little girl. Luzen quickly surmised this was the elfling’s mother.  Lotórie had successfully taught her mothers name to Luzen, Istawen, though the meaning of her name, or any others for that matter, she did not know. This greatly bothered Luzen, for to know a person, their deeds, indeed their worth, one must know the meaning-the story-behind a name. Likewise, she could not share with the child or old man that her name, given to her for her courage in battle, meant warrior who finds enemy.

 

Indeed Luzen, imagined, amongst her people, this new place and situation she found herself in would merit a new name. But she was trapped in an almost dreadful silence. Not only could she barely communicate, she found what little she had seen was entirely foreign. And she realized that something about her caused conflict amongst the strange people she was now surrounded by. But as best she could, she tried to put these thoughts to the side when she had company. It truly had been a long time since she felt her body so relaxed.

 

Luzen ate the food brought her, and between mouthfuls of fruit, smiled sadly at Mithrandir and Lotórie.  There was so much she wanted to ask, and so much she wanted to forget.  She imagined that she was caught in a dream, or had died and was being spun into a wonderful vision where she could find peace, but darkness lurked on the edges of her awareness, and she remained afraid.

 

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That night Mithrandir wandered in the forest near the Forest River under the light of _Isil_.  He spoke softly, “ _Aldaron_ , great lord of the forest, I walk amongst the trees you hold so dear, yet you are in the West, far from the pleadings of this humble servant.” A slight breeze ruffled the leaves of the trees as if responding to the Maia’s words.  As the breeze died down, the sound of the river, rushing by grew louder, echoing the murmurs of the leaves.

 

“Lord of the waters, carry forth my plea to _Vairë_ the weaver, for I need her nimble fingers to aid me.” Mithrandir spoke thus to _Ulmo_ , knowing that the Vala would hear his words carried by the river to _Ulmo’s_ place of dwelling in the depths of the waters.  Mithrandir hoped that _Vairë_ , keeper of all stories that were known or were to be known would aid him.  “I am pressed to leave this place and tend to matters that need my aid, but if I leave now, this young maiden will be trapped in silence, with only a little elfling to aid her.  I need to know if her story has been woven by your nimble fingers, _Vairë_ \- to know and understand the tongues she speaks.  And in my dreams I pray _Irmo_ grant me this wisdom.  _Eru_ let this be done for the Great Music knows of what was, what is, and what is to come.  I know this life I help is insignificant but I wish to do what I can to open the joys of this world to her.  I wish for this soul to know that beauty can survive and that hope can flourish despite the darkness of our times.  Let this old man have this request, for it will fill my heart.” (2)

 

And _Ulmo_ carried forth the request, touched by the selflessness of the Istar, and _Vairë_ searched her tapestries and whispered its stories to _Irmo_.  And this is how Mithrandir came to know and understand the sad melodies of _Terte_ held in Luzen’s heart; and in the young maiden’s dreams a new song was heard, echoing in the distance, by the grace of _Ilúvatar_.

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ELVISH:  
> Anar-the sun  
> Isil-Moon  
> Eru/Ilúvatar- God, the One
> 
> Western Apache:  
> Terte- Earth
> 
> (1) Tilion is the Maia that was chosen by the Valar to steer the island of the moon named Isil across the sky. The Maia Arien was chosen by the Valar to guide the sun named Anor along its path in the sky.
> 
> (2) If you are interested in finding out more about the Valar, read The Silmarillion which provides a great account of Tolkien’s creation stories and the history of the first age. Below are the Valar referenced to by Mithrandir:
> 
> Aldaron- Another name for Oromë, a Vala, also called Tauron (in Sindar) the Lord of the Forest.  
> Ulmo is the Vala who is Lord of the Waters.  
> Vairë is the weaver, a Queen of the Valar, spouse of Mandos who is also known as Námo.  
> Irmo who is also known as Lórien, is the master of dreams and visions.   
> Vairë, Mandos and Irmo are Fëanturi or masters of spirits.   
> Only Mandos of the Fëanturi, is counted amongst the Aratar, or high ones. The Aratar are the most powerful Valar: Manwë, Varda, Ulmo, Yavanna, Aulë, Mandos, Nienna, and Oromë.  
> Reference: The Silmarillion, edited by Christopher Tolkien


	11. Gilthoniel and Dreams

_“Ceremony_

_I will tell you something about stories,_

_[he said]_

_They aren’t just entertainment._

_Don’t be fooled._

_They are all we have, you see,_

_all we have to fight off_

_illness and death._

_You don’t have anything_

_if you don’t have the stories._

_Their evil is mighty_

_but it can’t stand up to our stories._

_So they try to destroy the stories_

_let the stories be confused or forgotten._

_They would like that_

_They would be happy_

_Because we would be defenseless then._

_He rubbed his belly._

_I keep them here_

_[he said]_

_Here, put your hand on it_

_See, it is moving._

_There is life here_

_for the people._

_And in the belly of this story_

_the rituals and the ceremony_

_are still growing.”_

_-_ Leslie Marmon Silko, _Ceremony-_

Chapter 11:  Gilthoniel and Dreams

 

Legolas was reclining against a tree somewhere along the southern borders of his father’s kingdom, resting for a moment.  The incursion of spiders had multiplied twofold and roaming bands of increasingly aggressive orcs amplified their assaults on the elven patrols.  He held the little arrow that Lotórie had made for him loosely in his hands.  The air around him was humid, clinging heavily to every inch of his body.  He raised his hands to wipe the mixture of sweat and moisture that had gathered on his brow, aware that he was being eyed intensely.  He opened one eye lazily and looked upon Aní who was sitting on a tree branch next to him.

 

“Tis miserable the weight of this weather,” Legolas thought aloud.

 

“The dankness and darkness of these woods is imposing enough, and yet I sense foul eyes are spying us from a distance,” Aní replied dryly.

 

“Yes, I feel them too, but we have managed to kill enough of those foul beasts, that they are licking their wounds and looking upon us with a vengeance they know they cannot wager for they are too broken,” Legolas paused, “for now.”  Legolas now had both eyes open his gaze glaring in the direction of the unseen eyes.

 

Legolas continued, “But I must remind myself that although I have been surrounded by foul beasts, there is beauty in this world that leads me on this destructive path.” Legolas sighed.  He looked at the little arrow in has hands and clutched it tightly. “How I hate to kill, but how I need to kill.  This fate leaves a bitter taste in my mouth.”

 

“ _Ortheritham sain_ <we will defeat them>,”  Aní replied flatly.

 

“I hope we can defeat the darkness that snakes itself into our very midst.  And I hope that one day I will not have to bloody my sword or loose my arrow upon any enemy,”  Legolas murmured darkly.

 

Another elf listened quietly from where she sat.  Her eyebrows furrowed together as she gathered in the conversation.  “And one day may this world be such place where we can freely love without the cloud of evil hindering our attempts, _hir nîn_ <my lord>,” the elf added thoughtfully.

 

Aní turned towards the elf, “Turwen, your words cause my heart to ache for in them is too much truth.  Might there be a lucky elf who has _your_ heart?” 

 

The master trainer and object of Faelon’s affections blushed ever so slightly at Aní’s last comment, choosing her words carefully. “I fear that the darkness of these times leads me to safely assume that love is not granted easily, and so I can only dare imagine of such a time.  If there is such an elf, I would rather hold that safe where it will not cause heartache if tragedy were to--,“ her voice trailed off.

 

Aní sighed, “But if we dare not take a chance to freely love, even during the darkest of times, then are we not surrendering too much? If love finds me I will claim it and rejoice in its beauty, even if it is fated to be but for a moment in eternity.”

 

Legolas smiled slightly—the  mood was dangerously shifting to darkness, an effect of the Shadow that clung to them, “But fear not my dear Aní, love will not find you here, as you are dirtied and your hair unbecoming for an elf.”

 

Aní snorted, “Oh yes, let’s see where is my brush, my companion even in the thickest of battles, which I sneak out when I think no one is watching me, to brush my golden locks.”

 

“I do not,” Legolas hissed quietly, a broad grin appearing.

 

Turwen wryly added, “Legolas, your vision this eve would most surprise many of _Taur Laeg’s_ fairest maidens for I am positive they are unaccustomed to seeing you in such a disheveled state.  Truly even I have never seen you hair in such state!”

 

The elves laughed quietly, consciously maintaining their voices hushed.  They cast knowing glances at one another, taking in their companions’ unkempt appearances.  The myth that elves always appeared perfect and pristine was a running joke amongst them, something that wide-eyed mortal maidens dreamt up.  Although their appearance never approached the uncouthness of mortals in the same state, they nevertheless were confronted with the realities of life on patrol. 

 

Several elven warriors were positioned around the small camp of elves stationed in the darker parts of Mirkwood.  Legolas announced quietly, “Make ready for bed.  We have an early start for what will prove to be a difficult day.”  Elves all around unrolled their sleeping mats and arranged themselves in makeshift _talans_ for the short sleep that awaited them. A few took positions around the sleeping elves to stand as sentries against the darkness.

 

Legolas looked up instinctively towards the sky and frowned when his eyes met the night above, void of stars, shrouded in the foggy darkness.  “Let us hope our dreams will bless us with the glory of _elenath_ <stars>.”

 

“ _Losto mae_ <sleep well>,”  Aní replied.  “And may Elbereth cast her net of _celevon_ <silver> upon are dreams.”

 

Indeed the light of Varda made its way into the dreams of the elves this eve, providing them solace in the darkness that surrounded them, with details of lovers, friends, and things unknown.

 

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And they ran in the rain, chasing all that was hard to find, like children running after dreams that are soon discouraged.  This night underneath Isil’s light, which captured all the memories that faded with the light of _Anor_ , two souls forgot for a night all that their lives meant, trapped by a magic unseen.  The trees swayed in the night skies, leaves shimmered and the light of Eärendil in the western horizon was beheld as if on Arda itself.  Rain gently fell from the sky, the stars shedding tears for all that was fading, for beauty, for love, for life, that soon would diminish with the dawn of a new day, the glory of _minuial_ <morning twilight>.

 

She slowed and came to a field open to the glory of the stars above and let the rain gently caress her hot skin.  He gazed upon her from the forest edge that surrounded the field, his hands placed on the golden skins of the trees, and from within him rose a song in praise of _Elentári_ (1):

 

_“Snow-white! Snow-white! O Lady clear!_

_O Queen beyond the Western Seas!_

_O Light to us that wander here_

_Amid the world of woven trees!_

_Gilthoniel! O Elbereth!_

_Clear are thy eyes and bright thy breath!_

_Snow-white! Snow-white! We sing to the_

_In a far land beyond the Sea._

_O stars that in the Sunless Year_  
  With shining hand by her were sown,  
In windy fields now bright and clear  
  We see your silver blossom blown! 

__  
O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!  
  We still remember, we who dwell  
In this far land beneath the trees,  
  Thy starlight on the Western Seas."(2)

 

She allowed his voice to caress her senses, and she looked out into the night sky, spotted with the clouds that spilt rain, to gaze upon the stars.  And she looked upon the stars, breathing in their beauty, imagining that he must be made from the same light.

 

As his voice softly waned with the ending of the song, he glanced up towards the sky studying the same stars the dark maiden looked upon.

 

“Tell me more of Varda,” the dark maiden breathed softly.

 

He approached her and stood next to her gazing at the stars. “Varda, Queen of the Valar, oh Elbereth,” he proclaimed,  “with great love she collected the dew of _Telperion’s_ green and silver leaves and from his waters created the stars that cloak the night skies. As the great swordsman _Menelvagor_ appeared, followed by the blue fire of _Helliun_ in the sky, the eyes of the first children opened from their birthing sleep, and they beheld above them, first of all things, the stars of Varda.” (3)

 

She exclaimed, “ _Menelvagor,_ I have heard stories that call him _Long Sash,_ and that he shines from the heavens as a reminder of the stories of the many journeys of long ago,” she whispered into the night.  “Tell me more of your stories, when first your kind glimpsed the stars.”

 

His gaze was locked on the celestial beings that crowned the night sky, and he continued his account of the skies, “And the Eldar cried out ‘Behold the _elenath_ <stars>!’  Such was the beauty and glory the Firstborn first gazed upon.  Tonight, I dream that my eyes drink in such visions, both in heaven and earth, and that if only for a moment the newness of _uial <_twilight> is born once again.” He fixed his eyes upon the maiden, and allowed an affectionate smile to grace his lips.

 

She tore her gaze from the stars above, caught by his lyrical words.  “You do not speak of me, for I am kin to the earth, my feet firmly rooted in her womb.”

 

“Do you not see what I do?  Surely from those deer-like eyes, you must see how your raiment is resplendent with the deepness of Arda, and reflected in your eyes, like still waters, shine the brilliance of the _elenath_?”

 

She took her hand and let it linger about the long locks of his hair, “And the light of _Isil_ is bound in you, shimmering from the very depths of you.  Great is the wisdom of this world, which has allowed me to rejoice this night in your company.  Your words fill me with beauty, something I believed I could not ever know again.”

 

The rain turned to mist, and the moonlight caught the particles, creating reflections of moon that shone like thousands of dim stars suspended low in the air.  The two kindred spirits stood silently amidst the earthen stars, and surveyed the skies gifted to them on this eve.

 

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And with _minuial_ <dawn>, the light of the stars faded.  Elves were quietly readying themselves to depart back towards their haven in Mirkwood, pondering the visions that had been gifted to them during their sleep. 

 

Aní approached his uncle as the patrol departed north towards Thranduil’s keep.  “My heart feels lighter, and my feet quicker, thanks to the dreams that accompanied me this past night.”

 

Legolas nodded his head, “My soul too feels lighter, as if the stars I gazed upon in my dreams lifted some of the heaviness from my heart.”

 

“I too gazed upon stars, the light of Eärendil was bright, and there was another whom I could not clearly perceive,” Aní paused, and stared ahead of him as if lost in a mystery.

 

Legolas sighed, “Then we have shared our dreams, for I was accompanied by a maiden, but never did I see her.  I was only able to gaze into her eyes, and they are ones I know not.”

 

“I too did not have a chance to fully know this maiden, but I did see her hair, it was long and very dark, so dark it seemed to join with the night.  I did not gaze upon her eyes, but her presence was comforting.”

 

Legolas laughed, “Then let us be glad that an unknown maiden came to grant us a reprieve from our duties, if only for a moment.”

 

Aní lightly grasped Legolas on the shoulder, “Too short of a moment if you ask me.  I wanted to bathe in the light of those stars for an eternity, but alas, shadow awaits.”

 

Legolas replied, “Careful what you wish for, my dear nephew, for one night you will happen upon a fallen star and be granted your desire.”  Legolas then hummed the melody of _Êl a Edhel_ <Star and Elf>.

 

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As the elven warriors were lulled by Elbereth’s stars in their dreams, Luzen was stirred to similar dreams.  She did not know if she was dreaming or awake when the sound of the Forest River first found its way into her room, carved into the hillside. But it seemed to be calling to her, whispering strange sounds.  The sounds were lyrical and she listened contentedly to the odd music when slowly words formed here and there amongst the river of sounds that floated to her.  Surely she must be asleep.  Only dreams could materialize like this!

 

She opened her eyes and found herself running through a forest, laughing.  Laughing?  She had not felt such a swell of freedom for many moons.  She turned to look at her pursuer, but oddly she felt no apprehension.  Rain fell from the sky above, but there were too few clouds for such a rain.  Suddenly she ran out into a clearing, running to the middle where she slowed to take in the gloriousness of the night skies above her.

 

A song drifted towards her from the edge of the trees.  She glanced towards the familiar figure, and gasped.  He was bathed in a luminous light, and she threw her gaze towards the sky, believing that the moon had fallen to the earth.  But it was there, hanging agelessly upon the darkness.  She closed her eyes and listened to the song emanating from her earthen moon, who walked in the form of a male elf.  _Pamuya_ <water moon>, she named him.

 

_“…O Elbereth! Gilthoniel!_  
  We still remember, we who dwell  
In this far land beneath the trees,  
  Thy starlight on the Western Seas."

 

As his voice drifted off, she whispered to him, “Tell me more of Varda…”

 

…He looked at the strange dark maiden, sitting next to him, on the grassy field.  Her eyes reflected the soft flickers of light that hung in the air low about them.  She held her gaze up towards the sky, seemingly lost in a world far from the earth she sat upon, next to him.  “Tell me more of what you know of the stars above,” he warmly urged.

 

Her eyes scanned the heavens as she began her story, “The corn maidens descended from the skies, showing us how to care for our most precious possession, and we honor them when they appear in the sky during certain cycles of the moon.  Oh look there they are now!” She pointed towards seven blue bright stars netted in the eastern night sky. (4)

 

“ _Remmirath_ , the Netted Stars,” he exclaimed.  “I have always marveled at the beauty of the _elenath_ , but now I look upon them as if seeing them for the first time.  Tell me more of your corn maidens.” (5)

 

The maiden obliged the luminous elf, “Our stories tell that they came down from the sky to show us how to tame and grow corn.  We celebrate them, when the moon’s passage above reminds us of their deeds, with great ceremonies filled with songs and dance.  Corn is central to our lives, and is a sacred gift from the Creator.”

 

“We hold an _iau_ <grain> sacred to us too.  The Valar gifted us _lembas,_ waybread, which aided the _Calbin_ on the Great Journey to Aman.”

 

“The _Calbin?”_ she interrupted quizzically.

 

He answered, “The _Calbin,_ are the elves who answered the Valars’ call to return to the blessed lands, or Aman.  Their journey from Cuiviénen, the waters of awakening, to Aman is called the Great Journey.  But the gift of _lembas_ has remained with all the elves, even those who never completed the Great Journey to the Blessed Realm and beheld the light of the two trees of silver and gold.”

 

“And your grandfather Oropher, was one of these who decided to remain in Doriath?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“Mithrandir was gracious enough to provide me with the stories of how this land came to be inhabited by your folk, and many of the hardships moons ago.  You are much like me, caught between multiple cultures, and bearer of much history that is wrought with sorrow.” She sighed wistfully, her eyes brimming with tears.

 

“But there is also much joy, despite the sorrow,” he replied gently.  He looked into her eyes that reflected the netted stars above.  “I imagine that you must be one of the maidens of Yavanna, the _Ivonwin,_ whose hands alone possess the knowledge gifted to them by the Valar in the making of _lembas_ ” (6).

 

The woman spoke shyly, grabbing moist dirt and grass in her hands, “Your words make my cheeks hot, _Pamuya <_water moon>, for the _Ivonwin_ must be the corn maidens who live in the sky.  I am only a daughter of this earth.”

 

“Tis because you cannot see what I do from my eyes, deer maiden.  Yavanna clad herself in robes of green, I imagine like the one upon you.”

 

The young woman’s eyes lit up with understanding. “ _Kementári_ , queen of Arda, through her, corn was born on this world.   She is like Painted Woman, for Painted Woman created all the plants and flowers that dwell in my lands, using the earth and singing the Creation Song.” The dark maiden paused, “You called me deer maiden?”

 

The corporeal moon smiled, lifting a hand to gently hold the dark maidens face as he looked deeply into her eyes. “When I look at your eyes it is as if I am staring into the rich deep eyes of the _aras_ <deer>.”

 

The dark maiden laughed softly, “It is a complement. For my people, the deer are holy, brethren of ancient times, gifted in the knowledge of medicine.” The dark maiden continued to tell the elf of her people’s stories, sharing her most intimate knowledge.

 

“And _The One Who Lives Above_ , your Creator, is as Ilúvatar,” the elf dreamed aloud.  So many of the stories they shared seemed to be born from the same ancient whispers.  He had only begun to understand how vast and glorious the creation of the One was, how much was really unknown of _Eä_ , and that was wonderful to him.  The themes of Eru were grand, and in the music were interwoven such melodies that had remained unheard!  He whispered to the stars above, “ _Uial <_twilight>, the world is new in my eyes.” 

 

In her heart, the woman prayed for the truth of his words.  Maybe, just maybe, hope had been born anew.

 

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**Notes for the Chapter:**

> References:
> 
> Taur Laeg’s- Green Wood
> 
>  
> 
> (1) Elentári means star queen, known also as Elbereth, who is Varda, Lady of the Stars, Star Kindler, Queen of the Valar.
> 
> (2) From Fellowship of the Ring, pp. 88-89.
> 
> (3) Menelvagor (S) Menelmacar (Q)- Swordsmen of the Heavens, is arguably the constellation Orion and Helliun is the star Sirius. See “The Astronomy of Middle Earth” and The Silmarillion.
> 
> (4) Hopi story about corn which tells that the corn maidens came down to teach the Hopi about corn and that these corn maidens are in fact the stars of the Pleiades.
> 
> (5) The netted stars, or Remmirath is referenced to in The Fellowship of the Ring and “The Astronomy of Middle Earth,” and is the constellation of Pleiades
> 
> (6) For more information about the Yavannildi, or Ivonwin in Sindarin, maidens of Yavanna, read The People's Of Middle Earth.


	12. The Deer Maiden

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The story I tell here about Legolas and company is my own invention, and it is not part of Tolkien’s story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.

Chapter 12:  The Deer Maiden

 

 

The old wizard strolled along the bridge lost in his thoughts.  Much had occurred, and yet not too much had changed.  It had been weeks since he had asked the Valar for a token of intervention, and he had been gifted with much insight and was pleased to note that his young pupil had fared rather well. In their dreams, it seemed providence had illuminated more than stories for the old man known as Mithrandir came to understand her tongue, and Luzen likewise captured more of the Elvish tongue.  He had bid her farewell, informing her that he was leaving the following morning.  This had not gone well. In that moment, he feared for the young woman, but then again, he thought, she would fare better without him. He had done his best to assure of this.

 

“When do you leave Mithrandir,” a voice from behind the Istar asked as the wizard pondered the day’s events.

 

“I leave with the first light of day break,” the wizard replied, turning around to find Thranduil behind him.

 

“I wish you were not leaving us, but I am conscious that you are much needed elsewhere.  What of the young mortal woman?”

 

Mithrandir stroked his beard absentmindedly. “I believe that she will have to get along with what she has learned,” he replied hearing the slight tension in the Elven King’s voice.

 

Thranduil responded, “It is rather incredulous that a woman who knew not of our tongue has suddenly seemed to become rather fluent in it.  And you Mithrandir seem to be very familiar with her tongues.” Thranduil paused, turning to look at the Wizards who had approached the river’s banks, looking at the water surge by.

 

Mithrandir chuckled, “The ways of this world are a mystery, but sometimes we are fortunate enough to have the intervention of higher powers.”

 

“I suspected such,” Thranduil sighed, “but why would the Valar lend their aid for such a thing when so much in this world is ailing?”

 

The wizard went to stand next to Thranduil, leaning against the bridge’s railing. “One cannot understand why things occur the way they do, but I suppose that this little bit of enchantment is gifted for small reasons.” Pausing, he turned to look at the elf who was also watching the waters flow by. Mithrandir continued, “Sometimes the most insignificant of things can provide us with moments of joy, and maybe help in our understanding of ourselves- the world we live in.  That is the mystery of such small gifts, that so many of the insignificant things we receive come together in ways we cannot imagine.” Mithrandir eyed the King closely, noticing his lips tightening ever so slightly.

 

Thranduil tossed a rock in the river as he paused to ponder the old wizard’s words.   “I hear your words old friend. Their truth fills me with comfort, but I am concerned over this stranger’s arrival.” Thranduil now turned to face the wizard. “And a mortal, Mithrandir? You know that I struggle with this!”

 

“Ah,” Mithrandir though to himself, “we finally come to it.”

 

Thranduil’s voice was now clearly stressed. “And from what you have told me, she is not of a place or time known to us? From a land far, far west, beyond what is allowed to be known.  How is this possible?”

 

The Istar shrugged his shoulders, “Those are questions I cannot answer.  The answer will reveal itself, in time, but not through me I am afraid, and not through actions of the Valar.  We must wait for her to come to those answers.”

 

“Should I be expected to house this stranger, despite not knowing the truths behind her?” Thranduil asked, turning again to watch the river, clearly frustrated with Mithrandir’s indirect answers.

 

“No you are not. You are king, and those decisions are best made by you.”

 

“Ai, Mithrandir, I was not trying to sound rash.  Friend, I would like your counsel on this matter.  Who else than you?  You are the one who has learned most about her, and the one she seems to trust, as you seem to trust her,” Thranduil beseeched. “And you know of… you know of my pain,” Thranduil whispered.

 

Mithrandir gently placed his hand on the King’s shoulder. “The girl is no danger.  She is a simple girl who is lost in a world she is completely ignorant of.  Nothing more, nothing less.” Mithrandir’s grip tightened on the King’s shoulder as if willing him to face his fear of the _Edain_. “Thranduil, sometimes we must let life take the course most unseen. Maybe her newborn sight can shed some of the mundaneness of immortality. Perhaps her mortality, for she bears it like no other second-born I have known, must be confronted by you and your kin.”

 

The elven king looked towards the west, but he didn’t look to see, he looked to understand.  He ran his hands through his golden hair, the dark blue of his eyes catching the sun’s light. 

 

“Ah, my dear friend, looking at you, it is as if I am looking at Legolas,” the wizard added, attempting to lighten Thranduil’s spirits.

 

Thranduil allowed himself to laugh, “My dear son.  But I thought he looked so much like his mother?”

 

“Oh indeed he does, but the way you were standing just now, your hair and eyes catching the sun, I saw Legolas for a moment.”

 

Thranduil chuckled at the wizard’s observation. “There is much of me in my son.  I must admit he has perfected my stubbornness, and yet he is as patient as Nyére was.”  Thranduil’s eyes softened. “Why do I worry about this maiden?  I of all should be used to living with unsolved riddles.”  His voice trailed off and he stood in silence, embracing the memory of his beloved wife and her mysterious gift.

 

Mithrandir tenderly grasped Thranduil’s hand in his, and squeezed it reassuringly.  Thranduil allowed his gaze to fall upon the wizard’s aged face.  A single tear rolled unashamedly down Thranduil’s cheek.  Mithrandir gently wiped the tear away, “Oropherion, you are never alone; she shall always be a part of you. She will be waiting for you when you sail.”

 

Thranduil smiled appreciatively, nodding his head.  Wizard and king turned towards the cavernous palace, walking in silence, but not alone.

 

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It was an unusually bright day in the northeastern realm of Thranduil of Mirkwood.  The morning sun bathed the forest with a cleansing light.  Luzen awoke from her usual dreams, clutching her chest.  But never had her dreams ended with such pain.  It was as if she had been struck again by bullets.  As the waking world materialized around her, she breathed easier as she noted she was indeed whole and unhurt. But he was leaving. Her old man, the one she had come to trust so completely was leaving!

 

It had been four consecutive nights that she had been visited by various visions, and through them she had been gifted much knowledge about where she was at. 

After the first vision, she found that she was able to make out words, here and there, from the strange tongue of the leaf people for that was what she named them.  Somewhere inside she understood that this was no accident that some higher power had intervened, and for this she was thankful, and always she thanked the moon for visiting her.  She had learned many of the stories of the leaf folk.  This had allowed her to feel more at ease, as their stories were familiar to her.

 

The old man had visited her, and seemed to be guiding her through lessons during her waking hours.  He was a man of powerful medicine.  When first he spoke in her peoples’ words she thought there was witchery at work, but soon she understood that he was only capable of goodness.  She would not tire of asking questions to the wizard in her broken Sindarin, and she demanded that he use Sindarin as much as possible.  Fear of remembering, fear of being left alone to her thoughts drove her to immerse herself in the world of those she was around.  She did not, she could not think back to the past, to that day she felt she had surely died. 

 

But in her dreams she was never alone, and at night she anticipated the moon’s descent into her dreams.  She was also visited by others.  In some of her dreams a gentle earthen star, bathed in a warm fiery glow, unlike her moon, would visit and they would play games, much like the types of games young warriors play to hone their skills. These figures were faceless, but oh her moon! His voice rang clear and she knew it was the moon for only the moon could have such a voice! Only the moon could soothe her fears, and only the moon could make her feel truly alive. 

 

But this morning she awoke and felt unsure- like something had collided in the dream world and was now spiraling out of control.  Luzen clutched her breast, trying to hold her spirit in.  The room closed in around her, and she felt as if she were drowning.  She threw the sheet that was tangled amongst her legs to the floor and ran out of the healing rooms, down ladders, into the forest clearing in front of the immense gates that led into the hillside.  She failed to notice that her feet ran steadily beneath her and that her body did not betray her with weakness.  All she knew was that she felt the walls closing in on her and that she needed to breath the free air.

 

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Legolas was glad to be well beyond the mountains of Mirkwood, a day’s travel from his father’s kingdom.  Maybe he had pushed his scouting patrol too far south, he pondered, but they had escaped serious injury.  The scouting party moved quietly through the trees, the branches extending themselves towards the trusting step of the elves.  Earlier orc activity below had forced the small party up into the trees to avoid unnecessary contact.  They were running too low on provisions and energy to dare violent encounters.  Legolas knew that these orcs would pose no threat as other scouting parties in the area recently dispatched would be more than willing to dispose of the hideous creatures.

 

“The evil grows fouler in Dol Guldur, guided by the hands of the blackness,” Legolas whispered to Aní, who was in a tree near Legolas. 

 

“Yes,” replied Aní, “from what I have gathered from the older warriors, the foulness and darkness is unlike any they have felt.”

 

Legolas glanced knowingly at Aní; his words reinforced what had been eating away at him inside- the breath of darkness had become thick, impenetrable.  This worried Legolas, but the soft sounds of elves around him in the trees brought his thoughts back to tasks that had to presently be dealt with.

 

“I am in the mood for something more than Lembas this evening,” Legolas quietly announced to the warriors that stealthily made there way through the forest.  “Turwen would you like to join me on a short hunt? The two of us should not attract unwarranted attention. We make camp in the hollow which lays to the northeast a league from here.”

 

The elves silently continued on their appointed path while Turwen and Legolas dropped to the ground in order to better search for animal tracks on the earth below them.  An hour after searching, Turwen called out a signal to Legolas who had been scanning another area of the forest.  Swiftly and quietly Legolas approached the ground where Turwen was crouching over fresh tracks.

 

Turwen quietly pointed the direction in which the tracks led and Legolas rapidly followed them, making no sound as his leather-clad feet touched the ground.  His bow was by his side, notched and ready. He slowed his pace as the trees around him whispered that another presence was near by.  Legolas’ body froze as he saw a deer appear from behind a large oak, nibbling the foliage on the ground.  His bow was readied and the arrow was aimed at the animal, but before firing, Legolas silently asked the creature if it could take its life.  He would not take the life of an innocent creature, which did not thus grant its will. Nor would he take an expectant female or one nursing young ones.

 

Suddenly the deer looked up from where she ate and caught her hunter surprisingly off guard.  Legolas gasped as he stared into the deer’s eyes. They were so familiar to him.  He could not move; it was as if he was caught in an enchantment laid on him by the deer.  The deer was still, caught in the elf’s eyes as well, and did not flinch despite the knowledge that it was being hunted.  And the prayers offered by the elf reached her, and she silently acknowledged that she would offer herself this day to her brother of the Third Clan.

 

The deer cautiously bowed its head breaking the spell between elf and deer.  Legolas swiftly loosed his arrow, and the deer fell instantly.  Elves were not needlessly cruel and they were ever thankful for the creatures that provided them sustenance.   Legolas paused as he neared the fallen deer.  It was dead but its eyes remained open, and again Legolas found himself staring into them.  Realization swept into him as he breathed out, “ _Araswen_.”

 

Turwen approached the deer a moment later, joining Legolas as they said a silent prayer, sprinkling _mail_ <pollen> they kept in a pouch on their belts as offering to the deer spirit. Turwen offered Legolas help in carrying the sizeable deer, ignoring for a moment, the name Legolas had given the fallen deer.  “Do you need help in carrying the _aras_ <deer>?”

 

“No,” Legolas whispered, clearly shaken by something Turwen could not understand.  “I will carry her to our camp,” he added.

 

As the two walked quietly in the increasing darkness of the forest, Turwen’s curiosity got the best of her, “ _Hir nîn_ <my lord>, when I came up behind you, after you had shot the deer, you called out _Araswen_.  My best judgment warns me not to inquire, but my curiosity begs my indiscretion.”

 

Legolas allowed a brief smile to grace his lips.  He shifted the deer’s weight to his other shoulder, and breathed out a heavy sigh, “Forgive my strange behavior.  I was simply struck by the importance of such a moment, and I wanted to acknowledge this creature’s offering.  ‘Tis all that was.”

 

Turwen smiled inwardly, unsatisfied with the answer, but she probed no further. She knew her captain was not going to reward her curiosity with an honest answer.

 

Legolas and Turwen returned to camp and a couple of elves took the animal from Legolas and began making preparations for the party’s meal.  As the group of elves ate the gift of _Oromë_ , Legolas sat off to the side, lost in contemplation.  Aní looked over towards his uncle and noticed that he appeared unsettled.

 

“Legolas, something troubles you,” Aní asked as he approached Legolas who sat on the outer edge of the scouting party’s campsite.  Before Legolas could wave him off Aní added, “And don’t attempt to dismiss my inquiry.  You know I am stubborn enough to insist all night until you tire of my questions.”

 

Legolas smiled slightly, “A wise observation concerning your stubbornness dear Aní.”  Legolas motioned for Aní to come and sit next to him, and Aní obliged.

 

“I suppose you might understand my predicament,” Legolas sighed, his shoulders slumping with some unseen weight.

 

Aní sat silently next to his uncle, but he looked at Legolas, providing him with silent assurance.

 

Legolas continued, “When we sleep, we have been visited by dreams of the stars, and their radiance.”

 

Aní shook his head in acknowledgement.  Visions of Aní’s dreams floated through his consciousness as Legolas spoke of his troubles.

 

“And there was the maiden who graced us with her company, with wondrous stories.  I felt much peace in my dreams despite the darkness that surrounded our waking thoughts.  But all I ever really saw of her were her eyes… her eyes.”  Legolas’ voice trailed off and he shut his eyes as if trying to contain the images that flooded him.

 

“And all I ever saw of her was her hair, but I welcomed the peace that came with these dreams,” Aní whispered.  He placed his hand gently on his uncle’s shoulder, “What is it that troubles your heart, for I feel your turmoil.”

 

Legolas sighed wearily, “This day when Turwen and I went hunting for our meal, I came upon the deer, and was surprised by what I found staring back at me.”  Legolas’ eyes grew wide as he relived the moments he locked eyes with the deer, but he forced his voice to continue, “Aní, I was mesmerized by her eyes-“

 

“You mean the deer’s eyes?”

 

“Yes the _aras._ And I knew that somewhere before I had come to know these eyes, they were familiar to me.”  Legolas gaze was looking up towards the stars that dimly lit the night sky. He then glanced back to Aní, “ It came to me then, it was her, her eyes, _Araswen_ , the maiden that has graced me with her presence in my dreams.  It was her eyes I was looking into.”

 

Aní’s eyebrows furrowed together, as he contemplated the depth of what Legolas shared with him.  “Could it be that maybe this maiden’s eyes simply resemble the eyes of an _aras_?”

 

“No Aní, they were her eyes.  This explains why I knew her as _Araswen._ ”

 

Aní gasped, “Deer maiden, _Araswen,_ that *was* her name.” 

 

The two warriors looked upon each other solemnly and then lifted their gazes towards the stars, sharing their silent contemplation.  

 

The elven company rested for a couple of hours under the glory of the stars, but soon picked up and began moving under the light of _Isil_ and Varda’s stars, closing the distance between them and home with each swift step they took.  And absent from Legolas’ waking dreams was the maiden, but the stars thankfully they remained.  As dawn approached, the elves quickened their pace.  They were anxious to arrive to warm embraces and the comforts of home.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

 


	13. Taking a Tumble

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The story I tell here about Legolas and company is my own invention, and it is not part of Tolkien’s story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.

Chapter 13:  Taking a Tumble

 

* * *

 

Legolas smiled widely as he set foot on path that led to the bridge that crossed the Forest River and led to his father’s palace.  The other elves around Legolas began to speak excitedly and more loudly.  Too long had they whispered or simply not spoken for fear that they would alert unwanted ears.  He looked forward to greeting his family, sleeping on his bed, and eating a hearty meal. 

 

Without a word needed, the elves separated and sped off in the direction of their homes, Legolas and Aní following suit.

 

“I challenge you to a race!” Aní announced, attempting to lighten Legolas’ mood.

 

“And you think you can win?” Legolas quipped, and sprinted towards the cavernous palace with Aní keeping pace.

 

The two elves ran furiously towards the bridge.  Aní, seeing that Legolas was edging ahead of him, threw his arm out, trying to grab Legolas’ quiver.  Legolas felt Aní reach out towards him, and cut quickly to his left, evading Aní’s hand.  Legolas let out a shout, and sprinted ahead of Aní. 

 

Although only beat by mere seconds, Aní gathered his breath, and threw his arms up in the air, “Ai, I will not live down the embarrassment.  I was beaten by an ancient elf.”

 

Legolas laughed and threw himself on the grass, responding to Aní’s jibing with panting laughter.  Suddenly, Legolas felt an elf on top of him.  Aní had launched himself in a tackle and caught his uncle by surprise.  The two elves wrestled, their moods lightened by familiar surroundings.  The two elves finally let up on each other and sprang up to their feet, carefully cleaning the grass that had been caught in their hair.

 

“It is good to be home,” Legolas declared.

 

“My heart does feel lighter,” the younger elf replied.  “You seem of better spirits yourself Legolas.”

 

Legolas nodded, and was about to speak when his face froze in surprise.  His eyes widened and his body stilled.  Aní turned to see what it was that surprised Legolas, and he too opened his mouth, but no words came out.  There standing in front of them looking at them wild-eyed was the maiden that had shared their dreams.  Her long black hair fell messily about her.

 

Aní finally was able to whisper, “That is her hair!”

 

Aní’s words shook Legolas from his shock.  “And those eyes, those are the eyes- she, she is not dead,” Legolas breathed, “those are her eyes!”

 

The two stared intently at the maiden that stood before them and shouted out simultaneously, _“Araswen!”_

 

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Luzen froze as she watched the two elves playfully wrestle with each other, but was more startled when their attention focused on her.  Suddenly, and in unison, the elves shouted at her.  Fear gripped her and she bolted towards the nearest escape route she could see, towards the bridge and across the river.  She pumped her legs as hard as they would allow, forcefully gasping for air, as her lungs seemed to collapse with each stride she took. A pain shot through her leg, but she did not dare turn around for fear that she was being pursued. But her body was quickly giving out on her. 

 

Ahead of her she saw the bridge coming to an end and a grassy path led from it into the forest.  If she could only make it to the forest, she felt she might be safer.  Her reasoning was flawed but it drove her to push her body further.  The pain in her leg was tearing through her as if a thousand needles were being driven into exposed bone. Her lungs burned with each breath she took, but she drove on. 

 

Aní and Legolas stood startled watching the young maiden run away from them in obvious fear.  They had startled after her, but decided they would remain far enough behind as to not startle her further.   Their pace was rather leisurely as the young maiden’s pace slowed dramatically.

 

As Luzen’s foot crossed the threshold of the bridge, her body gave away underneath her, unable to continue under her demands.   Time seemed to slow as her legs collapsed under her and her body flew forward.  Luzen threw her arms out instinctively to brace herself from being flung face first into the grass beneath her, and as she saw the earth coming up quickly, she flinched as she realized that would surely reinjure herself. 

 

As this thought crossed her mind, she felt knees burn sharply with the grass that met them, and she skidded forward until her hands hit the ground.  Her arms buckled from the force of impact on the ground and her elbows joined her knees in skidding along the grass, until finally her arms collapsed under her body, and she came to a stop.  The force of her body slamming down on the earth and her arms below her knocked the wind out of her, and the young woman lay on the earth, wheezing and gasping for any little air she could suck in.

 

Legolas and Aní had bolted into a sprint as they sensed that she was about to take a tumble, quickly reaching her, and crouching by her side.  They tried to have her remain out-stretched, as this would ease air back into her lungs.  The young woman did not seem to object to their ministrations, as she was still too dazed from her fall and lack of breath to contemplate what exactly was occurring.

 

A voice from behind the two elves startled them. “It seems that already havoc is being unleashed in my kingdom upon your return,” Thranduil paused, looking over the mortal maiden, “how injured is our young guest?”

 

Legolas winced at his father’s words, but answered him nonetheless, “She has not suffered any broken bones or cuts, but she has burns from where she skidded on the grass.  She will be very sore, no doubt.”

 

Luzen was now breathing with more ease but dared not breathe too deep as she was afraid that any move on her part could be dangerous as the three elves were inspecting her with hands and eyes.  She glanced nervously back and forth between the elves, but they did not seem notice her apprehension as they were busily attending to her and discussing amongst themselves how to take her back to the healing quarters.

 

“I was just about to leave, when I come upon this scene!  What has happened, pray tell,” Mithrandir urged.

 

Aní replied, “It seems we startled her and she ran from us, and fell in the process.”

 

“Move away please,” the Istar instructed, “surely you all can see that you are frightening her?”

 

The elves looked at the young woman and noticed the nervous look in her eyes, and stepped back, allowing Mithrandir to approach the young woman.  As he knelt by her, Luzen’s eyes locked on her friends, and offered a weak smile.

 

“What has happened here, Luzen?” the wizard spoke to her in her native tongue. 

 

She was thankful that the man known to her as Mithrandir was there with her, but she was saddened as he reiterated that he was indeed leaving, despite her new injuries.  But his words had comforted her as he assured her that the mighty king welcomed her to stay as long as she pleased.  She looked at the king and found him looking at her. He gifted her a warm smile in response. It was as if she was daring to look upon him for the first time. He was a sight to behold: tall, strong, and lithe, and alarmingly handsome. Indeed a mighty warrior and leader of his people!

 

The elves looked on as the wizard gently prodded quiet responses from his patient.  Soon Luzen was pointing wearily in Legolas and Aní’s direction, looking at them in the same manner she had before she had run away from them.  Thranduil sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose, as he glanced at his son and grandson, understanding that some mischief of theirs had probably startled the untrusting stranger.

 

The younger elves answered the accusation, “We did nothing wrong!”

 

Legolas added, “At least nothing directly.”

 

Mithrandir responded warily, “I suppose that this reunion between the lot of you was going to result in some sort of disarray, but no great harm has come of it.  Help me take her back to her quarters.  Aní and Legolas, I expect that you have many questions of her as she will have of you both, but in the meantime you can help with her re-injured leg.  It will need more rehabilitation.”

 

Aní queried, “But how are we supposed to speak with her if we cannot understand her?  You seem to be the only one who can communicate in her strange tongue.”

 

The King interjected, “Many things have occurred since you two have been away on patrol.  I am sure you will find that communicating with her will be somewhat easier than expected.”

 

Legolas ventured to ask, “And how is that?”

 

“Your father will reveal that to you later.  Let us take her back before her nerves grip her again.” Mithrandir gestured towards Aní and Legolas to help the young maiden cross the bridge.

 

Luzen had been quietly taking in the conversation that passed between the elves and the old man.  Her body was pained from the harsh fall, but it had been soothed somewhat by the elves’ ministrations. She realized she had a sense of familiarity with these two younger elves. But how did she know they were younger? In fact the only old person she had encountered was the old man. The Elves, as they were called, seemed to all be the same age, except for the few children she had seen. But the eyes, she mused, as the elves continued their hushed conversation, the eyes seemed to show a depth of ages if one could look long enough into them.

 

Could it be? Could it be that this younger elf with pale golden hair and the one with chestnut hair were her companions from her dreams? She tried to stretch her senses and allow herself to relax as the two elves were helping her up. Yes! She was sure these were them, but how?

 

As she listened to the elves talk, she realized that the two elves that had scared her did not think she could understand them.  To her surprise, she found herself pondering the idea that this misinformation, if not corrected, might bring her an advantage.  While she tried to bury her past, she was at heart a warrior, and she trusted her sense of survival.  She felt the old man’s hands on her brows and she looked into his eyes, his deep sky colored eyes, and felt warmth radiate through her body. She relaxed and allowed herself to relish in the peace and joy that radiated to her from these leaf people. 

 

For that is what they were, People of the Trees! Even though some resided in the cavernous stronghold, most chose to dwell in the mighty trees. Recalling her walks with Mithrandir and Lotórie, she remembered the first time she saw Elven homes in the trees. They were secluded enough from casual glances, but once she began to search the trees above she was blessed with wondrous visions! Secured high amongst the trees in the branches were platforms that housed simple homes. The walls were made out of living vines, intricately woven in braided patterns. Strange mosses, dotted with small flowers grew in the gaps and covered the canopies of the simple homes. Yet these vines did not choke the trees. It seemed to Luzen that the homes were simply manipulated out of living organism that existed in harmony with the tree. And she was right. Such was the way of the wood elves. Indeed, everything about these tree people indicated a close relationship with their natural world. Even their ears were shaped in the fashion of leaves and so on that day she began to fondly refer to them as the leaf people- her People of the Trees!

 

Returning to the present, awakened from her daydream, she found herself looking into the aged face of her old man. In this moment she promised herself that as long as she was able to take in all that was being gifted to her she would try not to fight them or let fear paralyze her.  With these thoughts, she pushed her troubling past further into the recesses of her mind, and turned her attention to the leaf people.  She allowed her gaze to linger slowly from ear to ear, and was amazed that nature had endowed these folk who were so clearly born of the woods they lived in with the physical traits of the trees.   She unconsciously rubbed the roundness of her ears and smiled at the thought that she found the leaf ears to be strangely beautiful.

 

The two elves that had scared Luzen out of her wits, gently assisted her back to her quarters, and she returned willingly, hoping that the emotions that had paralyzed her when she awoke would not return.  She had to fight the urge to ask the old man to remain by her side if only for a couple of moments.  As she was settled back into her room, Mithrandir took his leave of her, allowing healers to tend to her injuries.  Thranduil had shooed Legolas and Aní out of her room, and quietly closed the door behind him. 

 

Luzen held her breath as the healers exited her room and she waited, waited for the terror to grip her heart and squeeze it, but nothing happened.  She let out a long breath and felt her eyes grow heavy with sleep.  No doubt, one of the teas she had been given was a sleeping draught, but she was thankful for it, welcoming the sleep that overcame her.

 

As Luzen drifted in dreams, she could not shake the fair countenance of the King named Thanduil. She walked in a field of grass, wet with the dew of morning mists. She held the walking stick the old man had given her. She felt its weight secure in her hand. She felt the weight of her body lean against the staff as she walked towards the figure kneeling in the middle of the field.

 

Was it her injury that so burdened her? But as she looked at her hands she saw them wrinkled and worn with much age. Surprised she pulled back the sleeves of her tunic. The same silky, wrinkled skin greeted her. She let out gasp in surprise and even her voice betrayed one laden with long years. She pulled her hair, bound in a long braid, to see if it too had aged. Her braid was a tapestry of silver and gray, but still thick.

 

So she was an old woman in her dreams now. She looked ahead at the figure kneeling in the clearing. Her eyes were not as sharp. A golden glow emanated from the figure and it seemed waves of gold framed the figure. She walked slowly over to the figure. She could now see it was a man, hunched over on his knees, long locks of gold cascading over his face towards the ground. She heard the heart-wrenching cries that emanated from the golden stranger.

 

The stranger paid no attention to the old woman who approached him. He was drowning in his sorrow. He was kneeling on the ground. His body hunched over, head buried in his knees, fingers piercing the soil beneath him.

 

_“Ya Ta Say_ , hello, ”Luzen called out to the stranger as she approached. The stranger did not acknowledge her. As she stood close to the stranger, Luzen realized it was the King! _“Shils aash_ , my friend,” she called out more urgently; yet, no response. Feeling the weight of her old body, she leaned over, gently placing her hand on the King’s back. “ _Ciye_ , my son?” Luzen spoke again.

 

The King turned his head towards the old woman. His face was wet with the tears that did not stop flowing, his eyes raw with emotion. Luzen stepped back, despite her frail bones. The anguish on the King’s face was too much.  In his eyes she had seen a tempest of sorrow unleashed as if the grief of all that was good and gone before its time was bound in his gaze.  

 

“Father?” the Elven King cried. He grabbed the old woman’s hands, gripping them tightly, “Father?” he cried more desperately.

 

Luzen felt the King’s hands tightening as he stared at her. Yet his gaze was not upon her. It was as if he was looking beyond her. “Ai,” she muttered, the pain was becoming unbearable. 

 

Thranduil then stood, his vision locked beyond the old woman, “Come back to me! Come back! Father, Laurenor…please come back!”

 

The pain was too much for Luzen. Her legs crumbled beneath her. As her body fell forward, strong hands caught her, holding her in a hug.

 

“Forgive me, old sister,” the king wept, burying his face in the old woman’s hair.

 

Luzen wrapped her arms around the King and he wept. As his tears soaked into her clothes, a strange energy began to hum in her body. She recognized the Awakening, the call of knowledge begin to take shape in her mind’s eye.

 

“Firstborn,” she soothed, caressing the King’s back, “you call for your brother and for your father, but they will not return.”

 

The Elven King’s body shuttered, a deep groan escaping his mouth. “Adar,” he whispered, like a lost child.

 

“But they will not return,” she continued, taking the King’s face into her hands. “They go to the halls of your people and there they will find comfort and rest. Know this New King, they are at peace. The ravages of war are behind them.”

 

The young King looked down upon the old woman who tenderly cupped his face in her frail hands. The strength and energy that radiated from the old woman’s hands betrayed the old bones. He caught his breath, closing his eyes, understanding the truth of the words.

 

“I want to follow them,” the New King uttered.

 

“But you cannot,” the old woman replied.

 

The New King understood his burden. He could not fade. He could not wish for death. After all, his father had led him and many others away from those that hastened the Fall, precipitated by Míriel’s choice. Now the path was laid out for him to lead those warriors that survived the Battle of Dagorlad home. Now it was to him to lead his people.

 

Luzen pulled the King back into her warm embrace and began singing a healing song. 

* * *

 


	14. The Golden Light

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Disclaimer: The story I tell here about Legolas and company is my own invention, and it is not part of Tolkien’s story canon. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official story line.

Chapter 14: The Golden Light

 

Laurenor was stretching lazily in bed, watching his wife comb through her long, thick hair.  He loved feeling the touch of his skin smooth against the sheets as he stretched in the mornings before rising.  He pulled the sheets away from his bare body and approached Istawen as she watched him from the mirror.  Chills ran through her body as she drank in the entirety of her husband’s form. 

 

His dark hair hung loosely around his face as no warrior braids impeded its free flowing form.  His deep, dark blue eyes that he used all too well in the art of seduction, were twinkling with mischief.

 

“My brother has arrived,” Laurenor announced softly, standing behind his wife, and tangling his hands in her hair.

 

“You did say that you expected him soon last night.  He must be quite near for you to feel his presence,” Istawen added, not taking her eyes off her husband.  “Lotórie is with Rainiel and Erutinín this morning, awaiting Legolas and Aní’s return.”

 

“I am sure they will not mind if we do not meet him for breakfast this morning,” Laurenor purred in his wife’s ear.

 

Istawen closed her eyes, allowing the tingling in her ear to fully envelop her, “They will not mind at all, not in the least bit.” As Istawen breathed these words she grabbed her husband by the back of the neck and pulled him towards her lips. 

 

Laurenor allowed himself to be pulled into the deep kiss, and all was forgotten in this moment, except the needs of the two lovers.

 

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Legolas was immersed in water, the steam rising wrapping around his face, clinging to his hair. Deep in the cavernous keep, where narrow caves led to the backside of the hill were hot springs. The hot springs, a series of pools, populated the intricate and delicate caves of this untamed part of the large hill. Natural light permeated the humid atmosphere where springs from above ground found their way in, overtime widening the gaps in the heights of the smaller caves. The sound of the springs dripping on rock, the gurgling of the hot springs and the occasional echoes from the winds that were caught in the natural light tunnels were the only sounds present.

 

Though there was natural light it was not enough to pierce the entirety of the caves. The elves placed crystals, which they called light crystals, in certain locations to catch the slithering beams of light. The effect of which was the crystals reflecting light like the night stars on the cavernous heights. It was a magical effect, though mortal eyes would not be well suited for the dimly lit spaces.

 

The entry way was narrow and no direct entry existed from within the cavernous palace. Elves would enter through a small crevice in the side of the hill and use a series of rope ladders and bridges to repel down. There was no need for more. Certainly the Others might have blasted the side of the mountain and built stone stairways, but not the wood elves. They enjoyed what the earth offered and treaded as lightly upon it.

 

His head resting on the gently rounded stone, Legolas took advantage of the shallow shelf in the pool he was in to stretch out his body and enjoy the hot water full of minerals from deep below to soothe his tired body. Some others who had been on patrol had made their way and also found themselves luxuriating in the healing waters of their home.

 

Legolas heard the soft patter of feet head in the direction towards him, followed by the gentle splash of a body entering the pool. He didn’t open his eyes to see who joined him. Legolas could hear the intake of breath as the elf emerged from the water, taking up residence on the opposite side of the small pool.

 

It had been this way for as long as they could remember. Upon return from patrol Legolas or his brother would head to the hot springs, there remaining until the other joined. Many times it was in silent companionship. Other times it was to offer quite words of support or healing.

 

Today Laurenor joined his brother. A feint smiled graced Legolas’ face. He always welcomed his brother, looked forward to his warm and gentle presence. This was no time to be alone, even though it would seem appropriate for an elf to want solace, but the weight of shadow demanded otherwise.

 

It was indeed rare that Laurenor or Istawen would leave on patrols. Lotórie was still too young for her parents to depart from her side. The wood elves cherished the time parents and elfling spent. Upon majority it was understood that parents would return to serve their Wood and likewise, the child, now adult would be initiated to serve _Taur_ Laeg, the Green Wood. At times necessity demanded parent to be departed from child, but this only occurred when no other way could be found.

 

Legolas was happy for this time his brother had. Laurenor bore a heavy burden. Legolas opened his eyes looking to his brother who was leaned against a rock, meditating, his body half submerged in the hot spring. With his eyes he traced the fading scars that crossed his chest. A slight frown now appeared as Legolas examined the thick scar that snaked around his arm. It was still angry, raised like a steep ridge across a plain. It would take many a year for this scar to heal. The blade that sliced him full of malice and of morgul make.

 

Laurenor had almost died that day. It was a miracle he had his arm, but they had managed to save it. Long, though, the healers told him that it would be before it healed. Thank goodness for the longevity of elves, thought Legolas. He looked forward to the day when it would be a mere hint on his body.

 

Thinking of his father, Legolas drew in a deep breath, submerging into the water. As he sunk to the shallow floor his mind went to older days. The Elven world was preparing to commemorate the Quincentenary of the War of the Last Alliance between Elves and Men. In Gondor, though, Men were fighting another battle, amongst themselves—an invasion of Easterlings that would wage on and off for over half a century.  It was a somber event, yet it was also about hope, remembering those that had perished.

 

For the wood elves, it was a stark reminder for the many, many they lost. But it was also a celebration of their King-he who had endured and brought them to thrive after such tragedy. The King had lost his father, his brother, an uncle, and untold other family and friends. Yet he had also found love, and this love had brought them close to their kin of the Golden Wood and the elves of Imladris.

 

There was also happiness because the woodland realm was blessed with a resurgence of young. The sorrow of loss weighed heavily on them following Dagorlad. And now their king expected his second born, a son, a son that would take Thranduil’s brother’s name in the way of the Silvan. Naming elflings after Elves that had made their way to the halls of waiting was not a tradition amongst the High Born, but it was a strong practice in the woodland realms. And so Thranduil’s son would be named Laurenor, the Golden Light, in honor of his mother’s realm as well as uncle, an elf with such Golden hair, it was said to be fire.

 

Laurenor was born with the black hair of the Noldor and the honey brown skin of the Avari. He would be strong and tall like his father, bearing a strong physical resemblance to Thranduil.

 

Legolas emerged, inhaling sharply as he had stayed too long under water.

 

“I thought I was going to have to pull you out!” Laurenor replied as Legolas caught his breath.

 

The deep baritone of his brother’s voice calmed him. “Is it hurting?” Legolas asked.

 

Laurenor groaned slightly. “Yes. It has been sour with me of late,” he replied gently tracing the scar on his arm.” Understanding Legolas’ frame of mind, Laurenor continued, “I feel closer to her because of it.”

 

The surprise on Legolas’ face evident, Laurenor offered, “If I wouldn’t have taken this blow meant for her, mother would have died there, amongst that filth. I was able to bring her home Legolas. She was able to take her last breath in our arms, in her home.”

 

Legolas slid over to sit next to his brother placing his hand gently on the scar. He too felt closer to his mother sitting next to his brother.

 

Laurenor placed his hand over his brothers and the two sat silently, sharing in the joys of finding their mother’s love in unexpected ways.

 

 

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“Adar?” Rainiel whispered, entering her father’s study within the cavernous keep.  The King was standing still, as if time had caught him unawares, turning him into a stone statute. His gaze was locked on a tapestry depicting his coronation.

 

“Adar?” she repeated, but her father did not hear her.

 

She stepped quietly further into the room. As she cautiously approached her father, she saw the anguish on his face, his cheeks wet with tears. “Ada, hear me,” Rainiel implored. But the King either did not hear her or was too lost in his past to return.

 

Thranduil’s state was not a new occurrence. However, it had been long since he had fallen into this spell of sorrowful reverie. Rainiel had been by his side when he succumbed to them after her mother’s death, though she knew he had also been beset with them following the death of her grandfather, uncle, and so many others at the close of the Second Age.

 

Carefully, Rainiel took her father’s hand in hers and began singing a Healing Song, passed down from her mother’s kin of Avamanyar and Nandor heritage. Her grandfather’s people were of the Penni Clans, common to Lorien and the former Greenwood. While outsiders deemed them dark and unwise, those who came to know them understood they were gifted with the foresight of Awakening, the knowledge and magic handed down when the Eldar first awoke in Cuiviénen.

 

Rainiel sang the haunting melody- breath of the Elder knowledge- invoking incantations of old to bring her father back to the present. The melody of the otherworldly song descended into the mists in which Thranduil was lost.

 

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As the old woman held the ageless warrior, a swarm of iridescent blue damselflies hovered around the figures. Steadily, one by one, the insects delicately landed on the New King. The ancient messengers from the Waters of Awakening, summoned by the Healing Song, whispered ancient wisdom. The buzz of the wings, the sound of the old woman’s song, and the grief of the Elven King came together weaving sound—energy—into a pathway.

 

The New King lifted his head. The old woman released him from her embrace, stepping back as more and more damselflies descended onto him. But she continued with song, eyes shut, holding her arms out towards the elf as if guiding voices from distant lands.

 

Willing Thranduil to follow, the swarm of insects began dancing as rays of light started piercing the thick mists that hung over the glade. They danced their way to and fro towards the light until they were bathed in it, emanating an iridescent rainbow of blues. As Thranduil stepped into the light, a sudden gust of wind swept away the damselflies and Thranduil suddenly found himself in his study, his daughter holding him in a deep embrace.

 

“Ada,” Rainiel sobbed, “you came back. You came back to me.” She tightened her embrace of her father, burying her face in his neck, feeling overwhelmingly like a young child first sorting out the sorrows of the world.

 

Steadied by his daughter, Thranduil began to calm himself with deep, steady breaths. If melancholia had a weight, a taste, he thought to himself, then it would feel as if the weight of the world slowly descended on his shoulders, bearing down on him with every intake and release of breath. It would first taste sweet, he imagined, then as he savored the sweet morsel, it would slowly turn bitter—but not a bitter he would spit out; rather a bitter tolerated and awkwardly swallowed.

 

Carefully Rainiel lifted her head to look at her father, an unspoken question shaping her troubled expression.

 

Thranduil guessed Rainiel’s unspoken worries. Why was he again experiencing _Râd Gwanath,_ the death path followed by elves that succumb to grief?

 

“I do not know, my dearest,” he whispered, “I do not know.” He could not provide his daughter with the certainty she looked for knowing this would not assuage her fears. “But you brought me back,” he whispered tenderly placing a kiss on his daughter’s forehead.

 

“Father, what sorrows brought you to that place?” Rainiel asked, unwilling to give up aiding her father. “Was it memories of mother?”

 

“No,” he answered, yet he was as surprised with his answer as his daughter. “I was grieving for my father and my brother’s loss, and I suppose, for those many that fell at Dagorlad.” He paused, stepping away from his daughter’s embrace towards the tapestry. “I came in here to contemplate a conversation I had with Mithrandir. I stood before this here,” he explained, tracing his fingers over the great beech trees woven in the patterns of the tapestry, “and suddenly I was in a field—the aftermath of Dagorlad. But there were no bodies. Only an old woman.”

 

“A mortal?” Rainiel queried, her voice sharp.

 

Thranduil turned to face his daughter, hearing the anger that simmered, “Yes daughter, one of the second born, but yet not like men of our times.”

 

“It is this stranger we are housing,” Rainiel answered. Though she managed to calm her voice, the lines on her face betrayed the tension. “I feel it. She has brought change. She has brought a strange weight to the paths of dreams. We should not have -”

 

Thranduil spun around to face his daughter, holding his hand in a gesture of silence. His eyes were filled with a strange ferocity. He said nothing for a moment, holding his daughter in his gaze, piercing the veil of her sight with a searching intent. In her he sensed the same discomfort, the same dread, concerning the mortal woman he felt.

 

“Ada!” Rainiel cried as her father’s probing surged within her.

 

Thranduil, relented, covering his eyes with his hands, sinking to the floor beneath him. “Forgive me daughter. I needed to know.”

 

Hurt by her father’s intrusion, Rainiel replied, indignation coloring her tone, “And did you find what you sought?” Immediately after answering her father, Rainiel felt great guilt for answering her father in such a way. “Oh Adar forgive my foolishness!” she exclaimed, moving to sit next to her father. “I am so frightened!”

 

“Now child, forgive me for my forthrightness,” he replied encircling his daughter in a tender embrace. “Mithrandir was correct,” Thranduil spoke softly to himself.

 

“Right about what Ada?”

 

The King grasped his daughter’s hands, bringing them to his chest. “That we have not truly let your mother go.”

 

Before Rainiel could counter his statement, he continued, “Do you not see that we would hold an entire race responsible for your mother’s death? And how could we? Was it not for your mother that much of the prejudice between the elven realms was done away with? Was it not for her wisdom, the council of her father, that we were able to truly see one another?”

 

“Even if,” he continued, “there is weakness in the race of men, your mother always counseled that there was also beauty and hope.”

 

Rainiel knew the truth of her father’s words. “I can hear her now, admonishing you.”

 

From a distance, both heard the words of Nyére: “If we don’t teach the Second-Born to care for the green leaves, do we not abandon our home, though long we may linger? When we sail or fade do we not then abandon our earthen kin to the devices of Men? Who better than the First children of the Woods to impart the beauty and wonder, to kindle that sacred communion to Men?”

 

“My beauty,” Thranduil said,  “one thing your grandfathers’ both taught me is to trust the whispers of provenance, to trust that as we are bound to this earth, we can hear the melody unfold and tend to it. “

 

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	15. Invisible Elflings

Aní found that he was not at all where he had originally intended to be. He had somehow managed to meander to the area where the horses were housed. He always managed to let his unconscious mind take him where it.  He stood leaning on the fence that surrounded the glade where the horses ran free.  The area of the pastures was large enough to house separate fenced off areas that allowed stallions to run outside at the same time without forcing them to share the spaces. 

 

Days had passed since his return from patrol. He was feeling lighter, but he was also troubled. Troubled by what his father had shared with him that first day he arrived about his mother, her unhappiness with the presence of the mortal woman. He knew the reason for it. He understood it, but he did not share her concerns.

 

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As was custom, Aní had made his way to the hot springs nestled inside the hill, finding a secluded pool to float away his hurt. Though getting to this pool required him to hunch over and almost crawl through dark passages he always preferred this pool. He had been coming to it since he had memory. In fact it was a favored spot for elf children because they could easily make there way to it, it was shallow, and extra hot!

 

As he slowly emerged from under the steaming water, his face pink from the stinging temperature of the water, he saw his father emerging into the small delicate cave. Erutinín made his way to the pool and quickly dipped his toes in and out of the water. This water was a bit too hot for his taste.

 

“Ada you always forget the water flow is cooler on this end,” Aní gestured with his head to the opposite end.

 

Erutinín made his way to the other end, cursing under his breath something about Balrogs and wood elves and heat. He gingerly tested the water with his toe and finding it comfortable stepped in and sat in the pool. “I see this amuses you son,” Erutinín answered his son who was barely concealing his pleasure over his father’s irritation. Erutinín always found an unusual way to lighten the shadow’s burden. This time, though, it was accidental.

 

Aní replied a smile stretched from ear to ear, “For a healer, Ada, you certainly take exception to the healing properties of our waters.” 

 

Erutinín did not answer. Instead he was content to hear the lightness of his son’s spirit—a good thing.

 

The two elves settled to soak in the healing waters, the rhythmic sounds of water droplets hitting the stone floor and pool leading them into deep relaxation and meditation.

 

As the two elves dried off, Aní sensed his father wanted to share something with him, but was unsure if now was the time.

 

“Ada?” Aní asked, as his father stood, drying off lost in his thoughts. “You want to speak with me about something but are not sure if you should,” Aní continued matter of factly.

 

Erutinín sighed, “It’s your nana. She has been unhappy of late.”

 

“Why?”

 

Erutinín eyed his son, choosing his words carefully, “She has sensed a change since the arrival of the mortal woman.”

 

“Oh, I see,” Aní, replied. “I will not broach the topic with her.”

 

“That would be best,” Erutinín affirmed. “I know you do not share her sentiments.”

 

Aní nodded thoughtfully. What needed to be said was said.

 

 

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The mortal woman’s horse companion was running about happily and neighed in greeting as he approached his elven friend. From the greeting he received it was obvious that the horse had been tended, as his short mane was neatly groomed, and decorated with bows.

 

_Lotórie has definitely been allowed to care for him,_ Aní mused.  What Aní did not know is that Lotórie had accompanied Luzen out to the pastures to visit her horse, and at first, despite not being able to understand one another, Lotórie and Luzen had been able to share the experience of caring for the horse.  As Luzen’s leg sometimes forced her to stop grooming, Lotórie would gladly assist. 

 

Lotórie was the other soul that Luzen learned to trust, besides Mithrandir. Luzen cherished the time they spent with her horse.  The horse was the one thing with her from her past.  At first Luzen was apprehensive about visiting the horse.  She was afraid that she would resent him for reminding her too vividly of her past pains, but when she laid eyes on her steed, the love she felt for her equine companion overwhelmed her.

 

He was no longer as skinny as she remembered him to be, and his short scraggly mane and tail, although characteristically short, were now healthy and glossy.  His greeting overwhelmed Luzen, and in that moment where he shared his joy on being reunited with his rider, Luzen felt selfish for harboring any misapprehension towards her horse friend.  She reminded herself that he too suffered, and that he probably was overwhelmed by not being able to see his human companion.  The only rider he had known for most of his life, her Cochinay, yellow thunder, his name given for the thunderous way he road into battle covered in yellow pollen.

 

The horse nudged Aní’s shoulder with his muzzle, begging to be petted.  Aní laughed and obliged the horse.  He heard someone approaching him from behind and greeted his arriving company, “Glad that you could join me.”

 

Legolas and Lotórie came and stood next to Aní and joined in vigorously rubbing the horse’s neck and body.  Cochinay simply closed his eyes, and would occasionally let out a content grunt. 

 

“I knew you would be out here,” Legolas spoke to his nephew.  “I had the same idea, but there were people I needed to attend to first.”  Legolas glanced at his niece who favored him with the sweetest smile possible.

 

Aní looked over towards Lotórie, and jokingly added; “I know that Lotórie only has room for Legolas in her heart.  So I came out here, knowing this creature would surely love me for company.”

 

Lotórie slapped Aní’s leg with her small hand, “That is not true Aní.  You are just jealous that Uncle Legolas does not play games with you like he does with me.”

 

Legolas and Aní laughed. Aní replied, “Yes _loth nín_ <my flower>, you are certainly right.  Uncle Legolas never wants to play with me.  He only likes to play with ellith” 

 

Legolas snorted, easily catching the innuendo in his nephew’s words, and knelt before Lotórie.  “Tis true my little one, I do prefer the company of ladies, and you _Hiril nîn_ <my lady>, are my most favorite of all.”  He took one of the hands that was petting the horse and placed a quick kiss on it.

 

The trio chatted contentedly for a time.  Cochinay, not to be outdone and ignored, let out a shrill neigh, easily catching the attention of his would-be indulgers.  The elves continued chatting and resumed rubbing the happy equine’s body.  Cochinay was delighted, and he would have been in total horse heaven had it not been for the absence of his Luzen.

 

“By the way Lotórie, the bows you have used to decorate this steed’s mane are beautiful.  They really do make this horse more handsome,” Legolas spoke sweetly to his beloved niece.

 

“I know Uncle Legolas, and Luzen helped me put them on.  We had such a grand time.”

 

“Luzen?” Aní asked.

 

“You know Aní, the young stranger who arrived here a while back with this horse?  I cannot believe you do not remember her!”

 

“Of course I remember her,” Aní added sharing a knowing glance with Legolas.

 

Legolas’ curiosity was peaked, “Is she a kind person?”

 

“Yes Uncle Legolas, she is so kind and very soft spoken.”

 

“Soft spoken, do you understand her Lotórie?” Legolas asked, somewhat perplexed by what Lotórie had said.

 

“Well I did not understand her, nor did she understand me, but we would speak with each other regardless.”

 

“Oh,” Legolas replied.

 

As Legolas was going to ask another question, Aní interrupted and asked a question of his cousin instead, “Do you know the name of this horse _loth nín_?”

 

“Yes I do!  Mithrandir translated it for me- the name in Luzen’s tongue is difficult to pronounce.”  Lotórie looked lovingly into the horses eyes, “His name is Cochinay, and he knows it, see?”

 

As Lotórie mentioned his name, the horse lowered his head towards her and muzzled her cheeks with a wet horse kiss.

 

“Another of Mithrandir’s miracles, no doubt,” Legolas happily replied, but as he looked at the scene of merriment, he felt a tinge of sorrow creep around the edges of his heart.  _Naneth, how I wish you were here._

Aní noticed the change in Legolas’ spirit and reached out his hand, laying it on Legolas’ shoulder.  “Will you tell us the story, the one my _nana_ loves to tell, when you decided to impress `_Daernaneth_` <grandmother> and her guests?”

 

“Yes Uncle Legolas, tell a story about `_Daernana_`.  I would love to hear it!” Lotórie squealed excitedly.

 

“Fair enough,” Legolas laughed softly, “I will tell it, but with no interruptions.”

 

Lotórie and Aní swore not to interrupt their uncle and Legolas began to retell one of the earliest memories he had of Nyére, adding what had been told to him by his sister, Rainiel.

 

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Elrond and Arwen walked with Nyére towards the stables, talking excitedly about the little foal that had been recently born, and was to be officially bonded to Legolas in honor of the day of his begetting.

 

Not only had marrying Nyére improved the relations between LothLórien and Mirkwood, it had also improved the relations with Imladris.  In time, many of the disagreements between the elven kingdoms were allowed to come to a rest, although not forgotten, and the lessons learned served all who were involved well. 

 

“How wonderful it is to have such a small one to fuss over,” Arwen added enthusiastically. “Oh Adar, I cannot wait until I have young of my very own.”

 

“But first you must meet someone in order for that story to take place, _sell_ _nín_ <my daughter>,” Elrond responded.

 

“Ada,” Arwen laughed, “I know this!  But when I see little Legolas, I feel a certain part of me await such a gift with much anticipation!”

 

Nyére laughed appreciatively, “Yes Arwen, I do know what you mean, and the time will come for you, as I know that the love that awaits you will be all that you deserve.”

 

Arwen looped her arm though Nyére’s, resting her head on the elder elf’s shoulder, “I am content knowing that such beautiful things lay in my future. Seeing my parents, how they love each other, well it makes me impatient! But Nana reminds me that sometimes such love takes a very long time to reveal itself.”

 

Nyére reached over and planted a soft kiss on Arwen’s cheek, eliciting warm laughter from the younger elf maiden. “And Celebrian is correct. How old were you Elrond when you wed your beloved?”

 

“Over 3600 long years,” Elrond replied.

 

“Quite the bachelor,” Thranduil countered, eliciting a wry smile from Elrond.

 

Arwen laughed, “Thranduil, you too were quite the bachelor when you wed, were you not?” Her impish grin drew a chuckle from the woodland King.

 

“Indeed! And I would have waited eternity to meet my love, as I am sure your Adar would as well,” Thranduil replied.

 

Elrond favored Arwen with his iconic smile. “A love worth the wait, my dearest.”

 

Arwen blew her father a kiss in reply, feeling a deep warmth and comfort take hold of her heart.

 

Nyére and Arwen continued their conversations amidst giggles and laughter, with Elrond and Thranduil silently lending them companionship.  The elves finally arrived at the horse quarters and settled themselves along the fence to gaze towards the pastures where several horses were busily playing, eating, and frolicking in their freedom. 

 

“There,” Nyére called out, pointing to a foal that was running about unsteadily on long and lanky legs, “that is the foal that has bonded with Legolas.  Thranduil is most pleased that he is strong and vital.”

 

“As well he should be Nyére, this horse promises to be a strong and faithful steed.  He is curious too.” The Lord of Imladris spoke with authority as he had overseen the breeding of many of his own horses.

 

The foal in question was busily inspecting a butterfly that was delicately perched on a tree branch.  The curious foal nudged at the tree branch, causing the butterfly to take flight into the pasture.  The foal ran after his newfound friend and discovered a game of chase the butterfly. 

 

To all who watched the scene it appeared the butterfly was knowingly participating in the game, as it remained in the pasture while the foal held interest in it.  The elves laughed at the game of chase, and their laughter increased as the butterfly began fluttering after the foal. But the call from the foal’s mother reminded the little sapling that he was hungry and he ran over to his mother to suckle her warm milk.  The butterfly, tired of the game as well, re-deposited herself on the tree branch she had been shaken from.

 

“Legolas loves horses so much.  He can spend hours watching and playing with them,” Nyére informed her company. “They watch over him, keeping him from places they think he should not be.” She shook her head incredulously, “Thranduil tells me that I should be thankful for I have a host of four-legged caretakers.”

 

Arwen and Elrond laughed whole-heartedly, and Elrond added, “I can imagine Thranduil saying that to you.”

 

“That would be something my father would say,” an elleth’s voice announced from behind the group.

 

“Rainiel!  I am so glad you decided to join us!” Arwen exclaimed. The two were close friends having met in the Golden Wood where both their mother’s were from. In fact, it was this friendship that also helped Elrond and particularly Thranduil, put aside the unspoken strain as a result of the War of the Last Alliance, amongst other histories.

 

“My father tried to keep me busy with duties, but I managed to escape him this day,” Rainiel merrily responded.

 

Elrond’s eyebrows furrowed in concern, but Nyére interrupted before the Elf Lord could share his opinion, “Rainiel, you always push your Adar.  One day he will not be so understanding. After all it was your own inattention that led to this compromise. ”

 

 “But Thranduil will most certainly not reprimand Rainiel for coming out to join my father and I,” Arwen interjected smiling sweetly at Thranduil.  “In fact she is only acting like a gracious hostess.  I do believe King Thranduil finds Rainiel’s maneuverings to be more amusing than infuriating.  Isn’t this right Ada?” Arwen batted her eyelashes innocently at her father. 

 

Rainiel nodded her head in agreement, allowing a sweet and innocent smile to grace her face.

 

“These children are incorrigible, but I think they have a point,” Elrond added.

 

“I have to agree with you Elrond, our daughters know too well that we are mercilessly at their disposal,” Thranduil offered.

 

Rainiel and Arwen glanced at each other, then at Nyére, and finally ran to hug their fathers who waited for them with warm embraces.

 

Elrond added wryly, “This does not bode well for the fate of middle earth.”

 

The group of elves broke into carefree laughter and continued in conversation for a time before an unexpected visitor interrupted them.

 

00000

 

“Legolas please come out now,” Laurenor implored.  “You are truly a master of stealth, but please come out.” Laurenor was searching frantically for his little brother who had earlier announced he WAS the master of stealth.  Laurenor had laughed at his little brother’s claim, challenging him to a game.  This challenge, Laurenor quickly found out, was not such a grand idea.

 

“Please Legolas,” Laurenor beseeched, and added under his breath, “if Ada finds out that I have lost you for even a second he will have my head.  Why did I agree to watch over you?” Laurenor quietly searched every inch he thought his little brother would venture into, making sure that no one knew he had lost Legolas.

 

As Laurenor let himself into Thranduil’s private chambers he found evidence that indeed his nymph of a brother had been or was in the room.  Little boots had been thrown carelessly in a corner of the room.  As Laurenor climbed down to his father’s favored flet because of its grand vista, he found Legolas’ little belt, but the little body that accompanied the clothes was no where to be found.

 

“Legolas,” Laurenor whispered sternly, “you are causing me much trouble, and you need to stop with this silly game at once.” No response, not a single sound except Laurenor’s breathing was heard.  Laurenor quickly leapt to the ground below quickly looking around him. Laurenor groaned in realization.  He was going to have to announce to the staff that Legolas had disappeared under his watch.  As he leaned against the tree he felt his feet brush up against a bundle of material.  He looked down and found Legolas’ small tunic, haphazardly strewn on the ground.

 

“What are you up to now?” Laurenor groaned.  “Focus,” he chided himself. As looked to the earth beneath him he saw that some flowers and grass had been lightly stepped on.  The little tracks of a barefooted elf child led away from the hill.

 

“Ai Elbereth, please let him not be too far from here.”

 

Laurenor quickly followed the child’s tracks, praying that his little brother was first unharmed, and second, that when found, no one else had to know about this little mishap.

 

In the meantime, Legolas was frolicking in his nakedness.  Somehow, he had learned that if he wore no clothing he would not be visible to elven eyes.  And the first place he thought of escaping too was with the horses.  Of course his equine friends would be able to see him as they shared in their lack of clothing. 

 

Unbeknownst to Legolas, he was not invisible.  On the contrary, his naked little form caught the attention of more adult elves than he would have otherwise garnered if dressed.  Faelon, a fine warrior of Rainiel’s age, happened to run into the little elf, and was about to ask the little prince what had happened to his clothes when he heard Legolas giggle and mutter under his breath, “Felon cannot see me! I am invisbo.”

 

Faelon had to keep himself from laughing and opted for playing along with the prince who wore no clothes. “Where are those giggles coming from?  Is there some wizardry at work here?”

 

Faelon’s jesting was received by more giggles, and finally Legolas shouted, “No Felon, you cannot see me, am invisbo!”

 

Faelon tried hard not to stare in the direction of the little body that was shaking with giggles.  “How is it that you have come by such magic that renders you invisible?” he asked with exaggerated awe in his voice.  Faelon also laughed inwardly as he knew that Legolas was undoubtedly under Laurenor’s care and had escaped him.  He would enjoy this little game with Legolas, at Laurenor’s expense.

 

Legolas breathed through giggles, “It is secret!”

 

“Oh,” Faelon responded, “and where are you headed to now.”

 

“It is secret!”

 

“I see,” replied Faelon. “I will let you be on your way then my prince.  I am myself heading towards the horse pastures, and Legolas, I am most impressed with your magic.” Faelon knew that the little prince was heading in that direction but did not want to impede the young one’s fun, and so he followed the little naked elf from a distance as the latter giggled and ran towards his favorite horses. 

 

Legolas spied his Nana, Ada and sister, along with their guests, and decided he would surprise them with his newfound invisibility. He crept silently towards them.  Even as an elf child, Legolas had mastered the art of stealth, a technique he learned too well from Rainiel, to his parents’ and now Laurenor’s dismay.

 

The elves were busily talking and laughing, enjoying the carefree moments they were sharing, which for all of them were too few.  It had been only a few hundred years that Thranduil had moved his people North to this location of Mirkwood, settling in the cavernous palace, as a result of the Shadow that had invaded the place once known as Greenwood the Great.  It was the first visit that Elrond Peredhel had made with one of his children to Thranduil’s new stronghold.

 

Legolas was happily watching the crowd of elves laugh, whilst concocting his plan of surprise.  He stealthily slipped up one of the trees and crept through the branches towards the group.  The trees had to mightily stretch their branches to accommodate the small limbs of the elfling, and they did so gladly, as the trees also regarded the little bundle of energy with much love, if such can be said of trees.

 

Faelon had not lost sight of Legolas and watched as he crept up in the trees. _What is he up to,_ Faelon mused, and settled to watch what was surely going to be an amusing scene.

 

Suddenly, raining down from the trees above them, a naked little form fell from above into Thranduil’s unsuspecting arms, but thanks to quick elven reflexes, the woodland king caught his unexpected visitor.

 

“I am invisbo!”

 

“Invisbo?” Thranduil asked, not quite making out what Legolas was apparently saying.

 

Nyére laughed and reached out towards Legolas, “My dear, where are your clothes, and why by Elbereth did you fall out of the tree?”

 

“Nana, you see me? I am invisibo.”

 

“Oh,” Thranduil replied in understanding, “You are supposed to be invisible.  Why would you think that my little one?”

 

Legolas was pouting at this point as it was obvious to him that he was most certainly not invisible.  In fact, all the adult elves were looking directly at him, attempting to restrain themselves from being over taken with laughter and failing miserably.

 

“No clothes then I am invisibo,” Legolas announced in a frustrated voice.

 

Elrond joined in the round of questions, and asked in his most diplomatic Lord of Imladris voice. “And where, if I may ask, did you learn that not wearing clothes renders elves invisible?”

 

Legolas, although lacking any type of clothing, was comfortably resting in his Ada’s arms, blissfully unashamed of his nude state, and was skulking instead at his most unfortunate luck.

 

“Yes, _ion nîn_ <my son>, where did you learn this,” Nyére gently urged.

 

“From Larnor,” Legolas answered, and then looking at Arwen, with bright eyes added, “and Arwen!”  The accusatory tone in his voice implicated Laurenor and Arwen, for Legolas was now certain he had done something wrong from the way the Lord Elrond and his mother and father were questioning.

 

00000

 

At this point in his story, Legolas paused, looking down at the beaming Lotórie.

 

“Why did you stop uncle?”

 

“Because,” Legolas answered, “our horse friend is calling for you, look!”

 

Lotórie turned to see the horse looking directly at her, tossing his head, neighing softly. “Oh he wants me to go ride him. But I want to hear the rest of the story!” the little elf responded.

 

“I will wait for you. Go on. He’s feeling neglected,” Legolas persuaded

 

“Oh no!” Lotórie cried, “but I will be back and I want to hear the rest of the story.”

 

“Of course,” the elder elf assured the youngling.

 

Lotórie ran off towards the horse that had made its way towards the mounting blocks used by elf children not tall enough to leap on a horse. She effortlessly jumped onto the block and then onto the horse’s back. The two trotted off enjoying the company of butterflies.

 

“And this is where the story gets more colorful,” Aní grinned devilishly.

 

Legolas returned his wicked grin, continuing with the tale.

 

 

00000

 

Arwen’s cheeks flushed a deep crimson shade.  Her eyes opened wide as she stared at the little elf looking at her with deceivingly innocent eyes.  Rainiel attempted to restrain a laugh, and instead snorted most indecorously.  Arwen shot a threatening glance towards her friend, and proceeded to look towards the grass she suddenly found interesting at her feet.

 

“Oh now I am understanding,” Thranduil replied, looking at the perplexed elven lord who was studying his daughter’s guilty stance.

 

Nyére nodded in understanding, “And where my little one is your brother Laurenor?”

 

Legolas quickly told the story of how Laurenor had challenged him to a game of stealth and how he had evaded his brother by becoming invisible.  As he told his story he looked over at Rainiel and smiled widely at her, indicating his pleasure at having learned so well from her.  Rainiel suddenly too found the grass at her feet to be most interesting.

 

Thranduil and Nyére looked at each other, comprehension lighting their eyes, and their faces hardening with the lines of knowing parents.  “Laurenor,” they both shouted and moments later their son appeared before them with head down.

 

Elrond knew that somehow his daughter was involved in this unraveling story, and that soon enough, all would be revealed.

 

Thranduil demanded, “How is it that you lost your brother when I personally asked you to look over him!”

 

“I, I was playing a game with him, and, and he, he-“

 

“Yes I know that Laurenor. He is but a child and you are a warrior, and you lost him,” Thranduil admonished his son.

 

Laurenor looked at his mother and threw her an imploring look.  Nyére simply shrugged and looped her arm through Thranduil’s in a show of solidarity.

 

Thranduil continued, “We will speak at a more appropriate time concerning this incident Laurenor.”

 

Laurenor answered, “Yes Adar.”

 

Elrond found that this was an appropriate moment to question the younger elves, “And how is it that Arwen, my dearest daughter, is involved in this Laurenor?”

 

Laurenor’s mouth opened but no sound came from it.

 

Nyére added, “Please answer Lord Elrond son.”

 

Laurenor looked up at Arwen and Elrond with confusion written across his face, “I do not understand.”

 

Meanwhile Legolas had his little arms wrapped around his father’s neck and was smugly looking at Laurenor and then glancing innocently at Arwen.

 

Thranduil spoke up, “Somehow Legolas thinks he is invisible when he is without clothing, and he has said he learned this from you and Arwen.”

 

It was Laurenor’s turn to turn a deep shade of red as he snuck a glance at Arwen who looked at him wide eyed.

 

Elrond interrupted, “I feel that there is something I am missing here.  Thranduil would you be so kind to inform me.”

 

Arwen looked at Thranduil with fear in her eyes, silently imploring the Woodland King to not to answer her father’s question.

 

Thranduil smirked and continued despite the look of horror on the younger elves’ faces, “You see Elrond, there are festivities that wood elves are fond of participating in, that is younger, unmarried wood elves, and these take place in the night under the light of a full moon. ”

 

Nyére added coyly, “And there are certain games, or dances as they are called, that are engaged in, in which clothing is casually removed, to the delight of all.  Why certainly Rainiel and Laurenor know what we are referring to, they are after all not children in the least bit.”  At this indictment the two siblings’ faces grew pale.  No matter how old they were, their parents managed to make them feel as if they were helpless adolescent elves.

 

“And add to that much consumption of wine.  Somehow the moon and the wine combine to induce a sort of merriment, let us call it, that drives frolicking wood elves into becoming one with nature around them,” Thranduil supplemented.  “The wood elves have endearingly coined this game becoming invisible.”

 

“Yes,” Legolas giggled, “invisbo.  Larnor and Arwen whispwing about how invisbo togeder.”

 

“Oh, I see,” Elrond acknowledged.  The raised eyebrows on his face were the only indication of the displeasure of the revelation. “And I imagine that my daughter partook of this merriment seeing as there was but a full moon a night ago?” Elrond replied, casting a piercing glance at his daughter. “No need to respond my daughter, you have been an adult for centuries now and your business is yours.  Might I just suggest that you are more discreet in your conversations as certain little curious ears are prone to be drawn to secretive conversations.”

 

Arwen answered, “Yes Adar.”

 

“I think this is sound advice for you as well Laurenor,” Nyére added.

 

“Yes Naneth, it is sound advice,” Laurenor replied.

 

Rainiel had her face turned away from the admonishments, thankful that for once, she was not caught up in the worst of the mischief, and as she looked around her she observed Faelon, standing behind some trees, with a wide smile on his face.  He had of course heard the entirety of the conversation. Rainiel shared a quick smirk with Faelon, both amused by the predicament her brother and Arwen found themselves in.  And as silently as he stood witnessing the amusing scene, Faelon retreated.

 

“Laurenor, do not forget to come speak with me this evening,” Thranduil reminded his son.  “Take Legolas and have him bathed and clothed.”  Thranduil handed over the wriggling Legolas to Laurenor. “Rainiel and Arwen, would you mind assisting Laurenor?”

 

The elf maidens nodded their heads in agreement and walked away quickly from their parents towards the King’s private quarters with Laurenor following closely behind.  As Legolas adjusted himself in Laurenor’s arms he looked at his brother and whispered into his ear, “I win Larnor!”

 

Thranduil, Nyére and Elrond watched as their children hurriedly walked towards the hill.  As they turned to look at one another, they broke into a chorus of laughter. 

 

Elrond was the first to gather himself enough to speak, “You realize Thranduil that there are many traditions that are all too pleasantly held in common between the elven realms, and only the names are different.”

 

“Oh, indeed,” Nyére added, “When I first met Thranduil, he assumed that elves of Lórien were not privy to the fancies of his wood elves.  I had to remind him that we are also Silvan elves, and that certain traditions were not wholly Silvan in origin, and even those that were, were whole heartedly accepted by the Sindar and Noldor of the Golden Wood.”

 

“I am sure Thranduil was not easily convinced,” Elrond quipped.

 

“Am I now being put upon by my own wife and my honored guest,” Thranduil retorted.

 

Elrond replied, “I cannot help it, Thranduil, the ladies of Lothlórien have a way of enchanting unsuspecting elves with their witchery.  You should be well aware of this.”

 

“Ai, Elrond, your words are full of truth,” Thranduil responded, clasping Elrond’s shoulder in understanding.

 

Nyére looped her arm through Elrond’s arm, “Celebrian is certainly missing out isn’t she?”

 

“Yes she is,” the Peredhil replied, “I do wish she would have come but you know her mother.”

 

“Oh I do!” Nyére added, her face pale. “When Lady Galadriel visits her daughter, well nothing can impede that. I am thankful she was receptive to Arwen’s visit.”

 

“Yes, but only because Arwen departs with her to Lothlorien when we return. Otherwise,” Elrond replied, mimicking a knife slicing his neck with his finger, eliciting a slap on the arms and laughter from Nyére.

 

Thranduil gazed at his wife, silently thanking the Valar for allowing him to be blessed with the love of such a selfless and kind being.  He did not know how it was possible to fall more in love with his wife as he believed that there could be no greater love, but in such moments he understood that he could never stop falling in love with Nyére. 

 

Nyére excused herself and left the elf lords to each other’s company.  What had at first seemed like an impossible alliance had now blossomed into a deep and caring friendship between the two powerful elves, and Nyére was thankful for that.

 

00000

 

“Arwen and Laurenor?” Aní cried out in disbelief. “This is a story I did not know of.  I have a new found respect for Laurenor!”  Aní paused, sharing a knowing glance with Legolas. “The Evenstar?”

 

Legolas nodded his head furiously quietly declaring, “Can you believe it?”

Collecting his wits, Aní queried, “Yet they did not bond? This must have been a disappointment for my grandparents, and for Lord Elrond and the Lady Celebrian.”

 

“It was,” Legolas offered, “it was so very disappointing for all of them. But they also understood that it was not meant to be.”

 

“I cannot imagine Laurenor with no other than Istawen,” the younger elf replied.

 

“Nor can I.”

 

“Yet Arwen remains alone, does she not?” Aní asked.

 

Legolas nodded his head affirmatively.

 

Little did the two know that during this time in other parts of Middle Earth, a new life was born, the hope of the Second Born, that would come to capture the Evenstar’s love and claim her life.

 

“But what amuses me most, is how you, dearest uncle, have managed to be such a nymph since the days of your birth.  I am beginning to understand why my _Naneth_ finds her _muindor tithen_ <little brother> to be so infuriating!”

 

Legolas chuckled at his nephew’s accusation, “Indeed Aní, I have always enjoyed causing your mother and uncle much consternation.”

 

The two older elves watched as Lotórie made her way to them.

 

“I heard something about you playing games uncle Legolas and hiding from my Ada,” Lotórie sheepishly enquired, knowing that listening in on other’s conversations was not well regarded.

 

Legolas eyes widened. “So you were listening to our conversation little one?”

 

“Well, yes, but only because I did not want to miss the story!” Lotórie cried. “I heard something about you falling out of a tree and well it sounds like such fun!” Lotórie could not contain her enthusiasm.

 

 “Lotórie, do not worry, those games are quite a bore.  I believe that you will not find them interesting until you are much, much older.” Legolas offered.

 

Aní added, “Trust me little one, they are quite a bore.”

 

The two adult elves glanced at one another, hoping that their words dissuaded little elven minds from their curious query, and smiling mischievously, added in unison, “Such a bore.”

 

“Then I certainly do not want to play such boring games,” Lotórie sighed.  “I would rather play with another youngling such as you were. There are too few of us.”

 

Legolas picked up his niece, enclosing her in a tight hug, whispering in her ear, “There will be a day when the Shadow is defeated, and we can bring forth new lives into this world, but that day is not yet here.  I swear to you, _loth nín,_ that by my life, you will have such a world.”

 

Lotórie wrapped her little arms tightly around Legolas’ neck, burying her face in his chest.  Although an elf child, Lotórie was intimately aware of the Shadow that grayed their world.

 

Legolas and company bid farewell to Cochinay, and made their way through the enchanted gates.  The trio walked into the shared dining hall, and found Laurenor in deep conversation with Thranduil.  They were discussing the field report that Legolas and other elves had provided them upon their return from the field. 

 

Lotórie ran to her father and grandfather, jumping onto her father’s lap, and planting a big kiss on his cheek, “Ada, I heard about how you lost Uncle Legolas when he was but a youngling, and I heard about the games you used to play!”

 

Laurenor glanced menacingly at his younger brother as his cheeks blushed with mention of a treasured memory. Legolas moved to quickly diffuse his brother’s anger and turn it into mere annoyance.

 

“Of course I told her how you lost me when you were supposed to look after me,” Legolas quickly replied “And nothing more,” he added for only Laurenor’s ears.

 

 “So Legolas told you about how he enjoyed getting me into trouble with our A _dar_?” Laurenor spoke as he tickled and hugged his daughter.

 

“Yes Ada,” she giggled, “and he told Aní and I about our _Daernana_.” Lotórie turned from the kisses she was gifting her father and planted a kiss on Thranduil’s cheek,  “I wish I could have met her. She was so loving.”

 

 “Yes she was _loth nín_ , and she most certainly would have wanted to meet you.” Thranduil playfully tapped Lotórie’s nose with his forefinger, triggering more giggles from his granddaughter.

 

Thranduil then looked at Laurenor, “Your Adar, my little flower, along with your Uncle Legolas, have managed to get themselves into so much mischief that I have lost count.”

 

Legolas retorted playfully, “And thanks to us, Ada, you have been assured a life of pleasant and entertaining spectacles, no doubt.”

 

Thranduil nodded his head, acknowledging his youngest son’s observation.

 

Laurenor chimed in, “Which is why you love us so much, and which brings me back to the task I must laboriously set us back to.  My little one, will you go find your _Nana_ , she was waiting for you to take you to your archery lessons.

 

“Ai, I had forgotten,” the efling shouted as she made her way off her father’s lap. “Here,” Laurenor caught her before she could run off, handing her a packed lunch. Lotórie ran a few steps, then stopped abruptly, returning to her father. “I love you Ada,” she whispered, placing a kiss on his cheek, and turned to sprint out of the dining hall to ready herself for her archery lessons.

 

 


	16. Apologies and the Highday

“I feel the heaviness of the Shadow.  I expect that the increased Orc activity along our southern borders is no coincidence.  The weight I feel in my heart when I find myself contemplating the south is more oppressive of late,” Thranduil declared, the seriousness of his words not lost on his audience. After Legolas and Aníralendon’s arrival to the dining hall, Thranduil summoned them to join him in his study.

 

“The spider activity has also grown in such proportions, that it has taken days for patrols to clear out the elven paths from the foul creatures,” Laurenor informed the King, pointing at several locations on a large map spread on a table in the King’s study in the keep. 

 

“Legolas, if your report is any indication of what awaits us, then I fear for the safety of our Wood.  We must act precisely and efficiently and waste no effort.  Laurenor, I want you to oversee all the patrol reports from here on out.  I will advise all patrol captains to report directly to you. I need you to be aware everything that is reported back,” Thranduil instructed.

 

“What of Rainiel, my lord?” Legolas queried, “Will she be heading on patrol soon?” Legolas felt Aní tense at the table beside him. He reached over to the younger elf, placing a reassuring hand on his shoulder.

 

“No,” Thranduil replied, his voice betraying the toll it took to have all his children given to an ongoing war.  “I need her organizing skills.  Under her watch , the elf paths around Mirkwood remain and will remain usable.”

 

Rainiel had resumed her warrior duties long ago, but she had always remained close to Thranduil, serving as his most trusted council, and as mother figure for Legolas after Nyére’s untimely death.  For this reason she never ventured far away for extended periods of time. The increased presence of foulness forced a reluctant Thranduil to call on his daughter’s abilities to be his second in command. As First Daughter of the king this was her duty.  Indeed, being part of the royal family in Mirkwood was a privilege but its demands were high, and in unsafe times, protecting the Wood was first and foremost. 

 

Under Rainiel’s watchful eye the woodland realm’s military structure was a well-oiled machine, a mix of Noldorin efficiency, Silvan adaptability and ingenuity, and Avarin prescience. The trees and creatures of the woodland realm were an important component of this effort as well- the protection of the Wood.

 

Thranduil was reminded all too keenly of the burden of ruling on this day.  He had before him his two sons, strong and disciplined warriors, and his grandson, not exempt from the rigors and callings of royalty in this kingdom.  No, to be sure, royalty for lack of a better word was something different in the Wood. And they all did what was expected, without complaints, and selflessly.

 

What pained Thranduil the most was seeing his granddaughter begin her training in the arts of war, but this was what was required, what was demanded, for an elf growing up in such times.

 

Whilst he had his children and grandchildren around him, though, Thranduil would relish in it and immerse himself in the love of his family. He did not allow them to forget their own joys and be diminished by the evil that encroached upon them.

 

Thranduil stood to embrace his grandson, whose face spoke volumes concerning his worries, “Do not worry my son, your _Naneth_ , is a most capable and disciplined warrior.  She is a driving task master, and I am thankful for that.”

 

Aní smiled, if anyone knew Rainiel’s drive for discipline and order it was him.

 

Sensing that the mood needed to be lightened, Legolas offered, “Aní, do not forget that I too suffered under Rainiel’s structured discipline.  _Taur Laeg_ , the Green Wood, will be the safer for it.”

 

Laurenor came over to his nephew and ruffled his hair with his hand. “If you want we can assign you to one of the units that will be under her direct supervision?”

 

“No, that is not necessary,” Aní replied rather quickly, causing the others to laugh.

 

 A knock on the solid oak door interrupted the group.

 

“Enter,” Thranduil announced.

 

The heavy door opened and through it appeared Herenion, Thranduil’s guard.

 

 _“Taur <_Wood King>, the _Aniåra_ <Eldest> have asked me to inform you that the preparations for _Rodyn <_Day of Powers>  are complete.” The guard’s grim face broke into a mischievous grin nodding in Legolas and Aní’s direction, “And that those two need to make amends with our guest.”

 

Thranduil replied thoughtfully, “Oh yes. Please thank the _Aniåra._ ” Turning to look at Aní and Legolas he continued,  “And let them know _these_ two are on their way.”

 

“Oh yes, Legolas and Aníralendon, you two are also to serve as her escort to tonight’s feast,” Thranduil added.

 

Aní asked, “She is joining us this evening?”

 

Thranduil answered, “Why of course. Why wouldn’t she?” 

 

Before Legolas  and Aní could ask more questions regarding the mortal woman. Thranduil, picked up the woodland crown that sat on his desk and gently lowered it on his head. It could be prickly if one was not careful. “I must go to hold court as I am already late in starting.  Good day.”  Thranduil parted from the study and made his way towards the great hall to see to the days needs.

 

Aní yelled after his _Daeradar,_ “How can we apologize to her when we do not speak her tongue?”

 

Thranduil’s fading voice could be heard down the hall, “You will figure something out.”

 

00000

 

 The two elves approached the healing quarters housed within the keep, with the intent of visiting the stranger and apologizing for startling her.  They had purposefully kept their distance since their arrival had caused her injury. They did however send her gifts of fine honey and bread, carefully wrapped in a basket woven of the wild grasses of the Wood.

 

“Why on earth do we need to ‘make amends’ with the mortal woman?” an annoyed Aní announced, trailing behind Legolas.

 

Legolas replied, his fair face grim, “Aní dares question the _Aniåra?”_

“No, do not misunderstand me Legolas. It’s just that…” Aní’s voice trailed off.

 

Sensing that Aní was debating whether to tell his uncle something Legolas stopped abruptly and turned to face his nephew. “What have you not told me Aní?”

 

Aní’s shoulders slumped. “It is Nana. She will be furious with me if she finds out about this.  I only spoke with her briefly about it the day we arrived. My Ada shared that she was not happy with the Edain’s presence here. When I made my way to greet my mother, she was sobbing on her bed.”

 

“Rainiel, crying?” Legolas asked, surprised by Aní’s information.

 

“Yes. It was at once disconcerting and heartbreaking Legolas!”

 

“Did you find out why she was crying?”

 

“I tried to,” Aní replied, “But she would only say something about _Daerada_ and the woman. It made no sense. She has since refused to speak with me about it. And you know I cannot gainsay her once she sets her mind to something.”

 

“I do,” Legolas replied, knowing his sister’s stubbornness and thoughts on the Second Born.

 

“I am afraid I will hurt her more if she finds out I am visiting Araswen,” Aní continued, using the mortal woman’s name that had been given to her in his dreams.

 

“Your mother will not contradict the requests of the _Aniåra._ And you and I both know we cannot do so. In fact you know that they do not ask for something that is not necessary. Let us make our way to Araswen,” Legolas offered.

 

Aní silently followed Legolas, repeating his uncle’s words to himself. Indeed, his _nana_ would not go against the wishes of the _Aniåra._ The _Aniåra_ were the eldest elves of the Woods, who awoke at _Cuiviénen_ , and did not return to the Blessed Realm. For this the Others called them the Unwilling, those that did not heed Oromë’s call and begin the Great Journey west. Though the Eldar regarded them as dark and unwise, the _Aniåra_ and the children of _Aniåra,_ responded to a different calling, for in that moment that Oromë summoned the First Born, Ilúvatar stirred in the Avari a connection to _Endor_ <middle earth> for the Father of All saw that one day the _Aniåra_ and their descendants would need to defend _Endor._ To them, the Avari and those that strayed from the Great Journey, he gifted the knowledge of Awakening and on certain Highdays the people of the Wood would celebrate this sacred relationship with Father and Mother, _Eru_ and _Endor._

 

Legolas paused. They had reached the healing chambers.

 

“We should ask one of the healers to announce us to the woman,” Legolas suggested.

 

“Yes, it would not bode well for us if we startled her again,” Aní agreed.

 

“And no more dark thoughts Aní. Araswen is goodness. The _Aniåra_ have seen it. Trust in our bonds.”

 

“I do!” Aní replied, his spirit lifted.

 

Legolas asked one of the healers if he could announce them to the maiden.  The healer obliged and entered the rooms quietly.  Inside, the elves heard muffled voices, but could not make out what was being said.

 

“Do you think that the he speaks her language enough to be able to communicate with her?” Aní asked.

 

“Let us hope so,” Legolas answered, “If he does not then what was the point of asking him to announce us to her.”

 

The healer exited the quarters and gestured for them enter, but before they did he cautioned them not to be so boisterous. The healer led them to a small alcove that formed a sort of private chamber set aside for those whose required prolonged stays.

 

Legolas stuck his head through the open door spotting the strange woman sitting on a chair in front of a mirror, brushing her hair.

 

“Uh-hmm,” Legolas cleared his throat, “May we, _Hiril nîn_ <my lady>?”

 

Luzen looked up from where she sat and smiled timidly at the blonde head that peaked through to her, cautiously gesturing him to enter.  As the golden haired elf let himself in, he was followed by what seemed to be his constant companion.

 

Aní smiled sheepishly, and both elves bowed, greeting Luzen in the formal elven way.   The elves exchanged looks with one another, and turned to look at the woman, fixing their faces into the most dazzling smiles possible.

 

Luzen thought to herself, _These two are tricksters, like coyote who spilled the stars into the sky!_

The two elves quieted and turned their attention to the woman realizing that they somehow caused the look of amusement on her face. 

 

Aní whispered to Legolas, “Say something to her.”

 

“No you say something!” Legolas whispered in return.

 

“No you,” Aní retorted.

 

“She does not understand us anyway nor can we understand her.  What is the harm in speaking to a maiden who cannot understand us,” Legolas pressed his nephew.

 

“Ai if only we had as much luck with all the maidens we encounter,” Aní replied playfully.

 

The two elves snickered rather self assuredly.  They then turned their attention back to the strange woman.

 

Aní continued, “She looks nothing like the mortals we have come across, maybe she is Haradrim.”

 

“No, Mithrandir explained that she was from a very distant place, and assured me that she had no real connections to middle earth,” Legolas added quite obviously annoyed by Aní’s questions.

 

“How is that?” Aní asked, pretending to be unaware of how much he was annoying Legolas.

 

Legolas snorted, “If I knew that then I would be a wizard.  As that is obviously not what I am, I will refrain from answering your silly questions.  I have explained this to you many times, as did Mithrandir himself.  I am beginning to believe that you are assaulting me with silly questions just to perturb me.”

 

Luzen looked upon the bantering elves with timid amusement.  It was clear that they did not believe she could understand them, and their sarcasm towards each other pleased her, as did their self-assured personalities. 

 

As she listened to their incessant reproaches towards each other, Luzen could not help notice the strange beauty of these leaf people.  Each possessed a quality that rendered them startling.  One had long golden hair, while the other possessed honey brown locks, touched by hints of gold.  They resembled one another greatly, but the golden haired elf stood taller and broader than his slimmer companion.  The tall elf’s eyes were a strange blue, whilst the brown haired elf’s eyes were a deep brown, much like her own eyes, Luzen mused. 

 

The two elves did not notice the eyes closely scrutinizing them as they were too caught up in exchanges of wit.

 

Luzen found it somewhat confusing that these elves, which were more alike in paleness to _qochata_ <white men>, wore their hair long, with braids, much like the many Peoples that dwelt in the lands she was born to.  But that is where the resemblances to anything from her world ended.  There was a quality about the leaf people, in both their physique and their spirit that made them strange, not of the world she knew.  She felt frustrated as she had come to an understanding of their origins, of their stories, but was not able to wrap her conscious thoughts around certain aspects of the leaf people. 

 

After much debate, Aní turned to the woman and spoke slowly, “ _Suilad_ <hello>.”

 

Luzen did not reply.  She stared blankly at Aní, not intending to deceive them further, but the lilt of his voice was intriguing and at once disconcerting. Even if she had wanted to communicate with them, she found her voice unwilling to respond.  How does one respond to an earthen star?

 

Legolas decided that other means of communication were needed, and he cautiously approached the woman, pausing every so often to let her know that he approached her in good will.  As he reached her, Legolas slowly lifted his hand to his heart, and slightly bowed his head to the woman.

 

Luzen responded by bowing her head mimicking Legolas, never taking her startled eyes from the elf in front of her, her pale moon!

 

Legolas then reached down to pick up her hand, and finding no resistance placed a gentle kiss upon it. 

 

Luzen was rendered inarticulate, no voiceless.  Similarly her legs felt they had turned to stone, and the only feelings she could concentrate on was the light brushing of his lips on her hand. 

 

Legolas took Luzen’s hand and laid it gently in Aní’s hand who was standing next to them.  Aní in turn took her hand and laid a gentle kiss on the maiden’s hand.  He then carefully placed her hand back on her thigh. Her hand felt as if it burned from touching fire. 

 

“My lady, we have come to ask for your forgiveness for startling you and causing you injury,” Legolas smoothly declared.

 

Aní continued, “And it would be our honor if you allow us to escort you for the evening’s festivities.” Aní gifted her with a sweet smile. Something about his youth touched her heart. She felt in him a kindred spirit. As for Legolas, his beauty was at once terrifying and wild. As he stood before her the distance between Luzen and Legolas seemed to span the ages. Here was one that was, like the moon, unreachable.

 

The pair mistook Luzen’s silence for ignorance of their words. Legolas motioned for a healer and stepped outside the alcove room, “Írima,” he whispered, “I assume you know how to communicate with our mortal guest?”

 

Írima replied, “With Luzen?”

 

“Yes, with Luzen,” Legolas replied, not understanding why Írima appeared a bit bewildered.

 

 “Why of course I do,” Írima continued clearly confused as to why Legolas was asking if she could speak with Luzen.

 

“Good then please offer her our sincerest apologies for startling her and causing her injury.”

 

“My lord may I ask why you do not offer the words yourself?” a perplexed Írima replied.

 

“We tried,” Legolas answered, “but she did not understand our words.”

 

Írima was about to question Legolas, but sensing some distaste at what he asked the healer to do, Legolas decided he needed to take some action. “And dearest Írima,” Legolas continued, taking the healer’s hand in his, “Will you let our guest know that we will escort her to tonight’s festivities?” He flashed the healer a brilliant smile.

 

“Of, of course, my lord,” Írima answered, unsteadied by Legolas’ flirtatious interactions.

 

“Thank you my lady,” Legolas concluded, taking the healer’s hand and putting it to his heart as he bowed slightly.

 

Legolas let slip the confused healer’s hand as he stepped back into Luzen’s room. Both Aní and Luzen had seen Legolas’ interactions with Írima, though only Aní heard what was said.

 

The two elves smiled at the awe stricken woman and announced that they were leaving her company through slight gesturing.  Finally the elves departed from Luzen’s small room.

 

As Legolas and Aní left the healing quarters, Aní queried his uncle, “What was that all about with Írima?”

 

“I am not sure. It seems she can communicate with Araswen well enough but almost refused to do so for me!” a stunned Legolas responded.

 

“Do you think she harbors some of the ill will my mother feels for mortals?”

 

Legolas declared, “I would not think that of Írima. She’s a healer and their training requires one harbor no such will towards a patient. It, well, I am not sure what to make of it.”

 

The two walked through the Gates in silent company, contemplating what exactly was amiss.  Each headed back to their private quarters, housed in an elaborate structure that consisted of the traditional Wood Elf homes woven into treetops. The Royal dwelling took advantage of the steep hillside: the expansive flets that rested on high limbs of large beech and oak trees connected to the hillside where the chambers continued in Hobbit like fashion. Though Hobbit-like in thought, these hillside chambers were certainly not Hobbit-like in appearance.  Like the living walls threaded of vine and tree limb of treetop homes, the walls and ceilings of the interior rooms took advantage of tree roots to fashion living tapestries. Nestled among the roots were mosses that nourished the tree roots. Small delicate pale flowers dotted the moss emitting a gentle fragrance.

 

Though one structure, the hillside dwelling that housed Thranduil’s family provided for each of Thranduil’s children to have their own private living quarters. As bachelors Legolas and Aní occupied smaller quarters, though no less private. The King’s quarters were in the center of the structure. To the left of him were Laurenor’s family quarters and to the right of the King were Rainiel and Erutunín’s rooms. Below the King’s quarters were guest chambers and in the exterior of the structure were the rooms reserved for Legolas, Aní, and other warriors. From there the elven homes continued down the hill and on into the forest. Little known outside of the Wood, one need not set foot on the ground below for miles around the hill as a series of ladders, bridges, and ropes connected the Elven homes.  In times of danger the ladders, bridges and ropes would be removed and in times of serious danger the elves of the Wood would retreat inside the hill beyond the Great Gates.

 

Legolas slipped into his tub, glad to have a moment to himself before the commencement of the festivities. He thought of Araswen. Like his mother the life of the Second Born was an enigma to him. He did not question Providence. That was not it; at least that is what he led himself to believe. No, Legolas was curious at a metaphysical level. Yet at times the notion that he could possibly live the lifespan of a star, knowing that irrespective of whether he lived in _Endor_ or _Aman_ , was reborn or not, his life was tied _Arda_. What happened when _Arda_ dimmed, that question troubled him?  He knew that he should trust in _Eru_ , but because of his mother’s untimely death, he was prone to such moments of transcendental uncertainty. For him, though Men were but fireflies in the night, there was a thought that drew him to them: when they pass, their spirits no longer bound to Arda, the Second People depart to a world beyond even the knowledge of the Powers.  Legolas wondered if this comforted them.

 

00000

 

Luzen sat transfixed looking at herself in the mirror, her cheeks flushed. She lightly touched the spot on her hand that burnt with the feathery kisses of her visitors.  It was not until Lotórie entered the room that Luzen was shaken out of the spell that had been laid on her. 

 

Lotórie had knocked several times, each knock consistently louder, but no one responded, so she let herself in and found a woman looking lost in a waking dream.

 

“Luzen,” Lotórie called out, “Luzen, it is I, Lotórie.”

 

The sound of the small elf child’s voice brought the deer maiden back to her room and she smiled at the familiar sight.  “Hello, little leaf child.”

 

Lotórie took Luzen by the hand in a familiar manner, speaking excitedly about what awaited them, “Luzen, there will be a feast tonight, and you are to join us!”

 

“Yes, Írima let me know, but I am not sure about this,” Luzen replied, distress obvious in her tone. Mithrandir had been right. In the dream world she had learned much of the language of the Leaf People. So much so that she now spoke comfortably in the strange tongue, though her tongue continued to trip and her accent heavy.

 

Lotórie answered, with the confidence typical in children, “Oh do not worry, you will be seated next to me, if that is of comfort to you.  It will be grand. It is a magical time, the Highday.”

 

“Anything for you leaf child.”

 

The two busily prepared for the evening’s feast that was only the beginning of a long season of feasting, celebration, remembrance, and restoration of the balance of life in the Wood. Soon enough, Luzen was caught up in Lotórie’s contagious excitement, asking about the Highday feast, _Mereth Rodyn._

 

“Luzen,” a gentle voice interrupted, “your chambers have been set up. It would be fortuitous if you moved to your new room before the _Rodyn,”_ Írima shared.

 

“My rooms on the outside are ready?” an excited Luzen replied. “Let us not waste time then! Will you help me little one?”

 

Lotórie nodded her head vigorously, “Oh I have been waiting for this moment. Just wait until you see your room!”

 

The two, with the help of Írima gathered the few things that Luzen possessed. They quickly made their way past the guards that kept watch at the Great Gate, following a narrow path that circled the hill. They began climbing as the path narrowed so much so that they had to travel in single file.

 

Írima paused to look behind her. Luzen was delicately making her way up the path with a watchful Lotórie behind her. “Hand me your things Luzen,” Írima directed.

 

Luzen complied, placing her few belongings in the healer’s bag.

 

“Now hold on to the rope with one hand and my shoulder with the other as we make our way across. The bridge will not give, but it will sway. As we cross, listen to my song and hum along with me. You know the tune.” Írima shared a comforting smile with the mortal. While it was exciting for Luzen to move to an exterior room, some worried that it might prove more trouble than it was worth. Írima assured those concerned that she had worked enough with Luzen that she could sing the Straight Road, a child’s song used to teach the smallest of elf children how to find balance amongst chaos.

 

As they made their way to the bridge, Írima stepped lightly onto the wood planks, brining Luzen behind her. The bridge immediately began to swing. Luzen stopped dead in her tracks, the sight of the treetops next to her and the ground beneath her paralyzing.

 

Írima began to sing, Lotórie joining.

 

_On waves of blue the ship goes up and down_

_We fall from side to side afraid we will drown_

_But on the seas of Ulu we find our way through_

_Steady legs and straight paths we now walk true_

_Oh steady legs and straight paths we now walk true._

Luzen closed her eyes and began singing the child’s song. Slowly the swaying motion in her head ceased. Cautiously she opened her eyes and while the bridge was still swinging she now could see a point ahead of her without loosing it.

 

“Slowly, not too bold now,” Írima cautioned. “While I know this song will allow you to walk our tree paths, I am not so sure how much boldness it can give you.”

 

Luzen shook her head in agreement, singing the tune under her breath. They reached a flet in the trees and made their way up a staircase built around the great tree to a more expansive area.

 

“Here we are,” Írima announced, “The healing rooms for those close to being fully sound of body and mind.” The healer led Luzen to a small room in the center of the flet that circled a grove of densely grown trees. “Here you will feel more secure. Even if you tumble out of your room you will not fall.” Írima now wore a grin. Her joke at Luzen’s expense was well received.

 

“Thank you Írima. I am not afraid of heights but it is altogether new living in tree tops,” Luzen merrily replied. Certainly the deer maiden was not unused to heights. After all she and her people lived high in the mountains for long parts of the year. “I do miss the views,” Luzen sighed remembering the vistas of her mountaintop home.

 

“Well come look at this one!” Lotórie exclaimed.

 

At first as Luzen made her way to the edge of the flet, she could not see beyond the edge for the light of the setting sun blinded her. As the sun sank beneath the horizon, the valley before her appeared as if someone had dropped a blindfold. She gasped. It was stunning.  A great forest surrounded her and to the east a great mountain range was visible though it was clear they were far. “Those mountains must reach the heavens,” she murmured.

 

“Yes Luzen, those are the _Hithaeglir,_ ” Írima replied.

 

“The mist mountains?” Luzen asked unsure if her understanding of the name was correct.

 

Írima assured her, “That is right Luzen, the Misty Mountains.”

 

“ _Hithaeglir_ ,” Luzen whispered to herself as the first darkness of _audial_ settled on the land. The stars appeared in the night sky and Luzen looked up and saw a familiar sight, “ _nahak'us!!”_ she cried as she raised her hand tentatively towards it, fearing it would disappear.

 

00000

 

Aní looked over the expanse of the woods beneath him, toweling himself off. The dim lights of the elven homes began to flicker in _audial._ Dusk was a time of reflection and Awakening of a different sort for the elves of the Wood. It was said that at second twilight, one could hear the songs of Elbereth reach through time as she dipped her hands in Telperion’s vats to shape the Sickle of the Valar in the night sky. Before Aní _Valacirca_ <big dipper/the plough> appeared high over the horizon.

 

He remembered Araswen’s words to him in his dreams.

 

“There is a mountain, a special place-- _Dzil Nchaa Si An_ , <Big Seated Mountain>\--our guardians live there, the Ga’an. We sing for them. On summer nights I would climb to a clearing on _Dzil Nchaa Si An_ to be close to the stars.Oh look!” the deer maiden exclaimed, pointing to a group of stars in the night sky, “There is _nahak'us_ <big dipper/the plough>! In our ceremonies _nahak'us_ is our keeper of time. _Nahak'us_ is always steady, always constant.”

 

Aní smiled at the memory of this dream. As he watched _Valacirca_ move he knew the _Aniåra_ were watching the great timekeeper in the sky. He wondered if Araswen was watching.

 

00000

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taur¬- means literally both great wood and king  
> Rodyn, or Day of Powers, is the sixth and last day of the Elves week, dedicated to the Valar. Also known as Highday. 
> 
> A/N: By watching the Big Dipper or the Plough you can see the half hour movements of the Big Dipper, and the more you are familiar with Big Dipper’s movements you can mark 10 minute intervals. Check out: http://www.physics.ucla.edu/~huffman/dtime.html


	17. Festivities

* * *

Creation Song of Ilúvatar

 

 

Chapter 17:  Festivities

 

Rainiel was readying herself for the beginning of _Rodyn_. A deep sense of both contentment and weariness permeated her being. Her father was hale, but there was yet a passage for her to find. She remembered how scared she had been to find her father so lost to _Râd Gwanath_ , to his grief. After his spell Rainiel insisted they seek out the chief healer who was rarely found in any of the healing chambers. Instead, _Sirrian_ and his wife _Nileth_ lived in the woods from which they could more easily aid the more distant settlements of Elves. The place where the healer and his also capable wife lived was called _dôr faer laeg,_ place of spirit.  It was a dense grove of tall beech trees and in the center of it, on the ground was _Sirrian’s_ home.

 

Here the elves of the Wood said a special energy or spirit manifested itself-the _faer laeg_ , the spirit of green and living things-the spirit of the wood. There were many such places in the Woods of _Endor_ , but these places only revealed themselves to those chosen at the time of Awakening and so in Lothlórien and Mirkwood, the places of _faer laeg_ were protected and maintained. For some it was their task to take care of such places as long as these places existed. _Sirrian_ , _Nileth_ , and their kin were such caretakers.

 

_Sirrian and Nileth’s_ home was a simple woodland roundhouse, The walls were wattle and daub, tightly woven pieces of wood, covered with a mixture of clay, earth, and straw and the roof, a tall peaked roof, was covered in densely thatched straw. While the roundhouse was common to the Wood, it was not as common of a dwelling as the treetop homes. The home, traditional to the _Tawarwaith_ <wood elves> was little used in the times of increasing Shadow, but near the Elven Stronghold several large roundhouses were in use for such things as drying and preserving food. Other smaller roundhouses, some built almost entirely of wattle and daub and others of stone, were secreted amongst the dense growth of trees-special places of healing and meditation where _faer laeg_ was strong.

 

Many of the structures were also used to house the men of Laketown during their visits to the Woodland Realm. The Master of Laketown was not fond of the roundhouses. He complained that the Elves could at least house his men in accommodations more at the level of the finest homes in Laketown though Thranduil was little moved to build more elaborate dwellings simply to appease the Master. There were certainly grander guest quarters but the Men of Laketown were weary to climb to the tops of trees, uncomfortable at such heights, and so the Woodland King would say, “If men seek grandness and all the comforts of Elven hospitality, then climb the heights. If they seek the ground beneath them then they shall have the earth around them.”

 

Rainiel took her father to see _Sirrian_. It was after all _Sirrian_ who had helped Thranduil when first he succumbed to grief and it was _Sirrian_ and _Nilleth_ , of the _Aniåra,_ that had guided Rainiel in using the Old Ways to keep her father from the Halls of Mandos after her mother passed and her grandparents sailed. To that home a young Legolas would steal himself to sleep on a matt on the earthen floor or amongst the great beeches, for he felt compelled to run from the grief of his mother’s death. There, Rainiel would search out her youngest brother, finding him with that strange and wild glow of _faer laeg_ in his eyes. She would go to him and hold him until the forest spirits released him from communion, crying tears for her own grief and for the grief she could not ease in her loved ones. Though she did not notice, _faer laeg_ would also come to her, saplings growing from the earth, wrapping their young limbs around her body, offering their own comfort, so consumed she was in offering her all to her brother.

 

And so again, there in the rustic home, _Sirrian_ called on _faer laeg_ and the forest spirit came and embraced Thranduil, assuring Rainiel and Thranduil that he was sound of mind and body. _Nilleth_ reminded the King and his daughter that though his grief was compelled by the presence of the strange child, she was not to blame. It was, in part, _faer laeg’s_ doing that Araswen was there, for that is how she was also know to the _Aniåra_ , the Eldest of the _Tawarwaith._

 

Rainiel shivered as she remembered _Sirrian’s_ words, “You will all walk in Grief if you do not confront the pain in your spirits. The young maiden is like a small pebble, finding its way down a mountainside causing an avalanche. She is your bane and she is your comfort youngling.”

 

Turning to Thranduil _Nilleth_ offered, “And when your children’s hearts find balance your heart will know its strength.”

 

As _Nilleth_ spoke these words to Thranduil _Sirrian_ held Rainiel in his gaze, willing her to understand their words.

 

As the two Elves made to return to the Keep, _Nilleth_ spoke to Rainiel, “Though we bear them, be heedful of earthen stars my young one for they must take flight.”

 

And with those words, _Nilleth_ entered her home and closed the door, leaving Rainiel and Thranduil standing amidst the grove of trees.

 

Rainiel shook her head as if to clear her thoughts and the somewhat cryptic words of the _Aniåra_ , though she took to heart their words to make peace with the young woman they called Araswen not only for herself but also for her _Adar_. And peace with the deer maiden she made.

 

At first Luzen was uncomfortable during Rainiel’s first visit, but as Rainiel shared stories of her own mother and her loss—something that Rainiel had not intended to share but found herself speaking of nonetheless—Luzen found a kindred spirit. Luzen shared how she too had lost her mother and her father, and so many of her family. She shared with Rainiel that she feared her people would not survive another winter. This too surprised Luzen for she was ever hesitant to dwell in memories of her past, much less painful ones, but she found herself compelled to do so.

 

The story of Luzen’s life touched Rainiel in a way she had not expected. Here before her was a mortal woman touched by sorrow, by Shadow, in a way that allowed Rainiel to share her own troubles. Indeed over the days they visited with one another Rainiel and Luzen found that they could confess many sorrows and fears to one another in ways they could not with others. This was not a fortuitous bond. No, it was ordained, and such things that are meant to be flow like a rapid river unencumbered.

 

00000

 

Luzen studied her hand, looking at her fingernails.  They had grown longer than she had ever recalled having them.  The harshness of her existence always wore them down to her fingertips.  Lotórie was busily shaping away the nails on Luzen’s other hand.  It seemed, to Luzen that some females amongst the leaf people chose to wear their nails longer than she liked, caring for them by keeping them clean and well shaped.

 

“Look at how beautiful they look now,” Lotórie proudly announced, sure of her handiwork.

 

Luzen glanced down at her hands and noted that her hands looked much more delicate and feminine with her nails cleaned and shaped.  “Thank you little leaf, your craft with nails is admirable.  You will have to teach me how to do this myself as I did not pay close attention while you worked on them.”

 

Luzen noted that her hands were softer and smoother than they had ever been.  She wondered if it was the thick cream she used or the fact that she did not perform much manual labor.  She decided it was probably a combination of both.   Much of her faired for the better.  Her long hair was more vital and easier to brush through, and she had not felt the tinge of hunger in her stomach. 

 

In fact now that she was quickly settled into her new room she felt happiness. The air was lighter, scented with the smell of the forest. The sounds of life, of the winds, of creatures scurrying in the trees, the chirping of crickets, and the soft sounds of Elven voices made her realize that she missed Life. It had been a mistake on her part to stay entombed in the interior healing quarters. Again her fears proved to be unfounded. A pattern she reminded herself she would not want to repeat.

 

Lotórie was looking at the dress Luzen had laid out on her bed, and asked with disapproval obvious in her voice, “Is this what you are going to wear?”

 

“Yes,” Luzen replied, and noting the disappointment in Lotórie’s voice, asked, “What is wrong with my clothing? Írima helped me make it.”

 

Lotórie, realizing her slip in manners, quickly responded, “I was hoping you would be wearing an elven dress.”

 

“I see little leaf, and I would love to dress myself in the manner of your maidens, but I prefer to wear what I am most comfortable in as I fear that I might be going into an uncomfortable situation.”

 

“Fear not, Luzen, it will be a grand time.  You will see!” Lotórie exclaimed excitedly. 

 

There was the ringing of a bell outside Luzen’s room and Lotórie went over to see who it was, parting the heavy drapery that served as a door to the room.  She greeted the visitor with joy, “Nana, you have come to visit us!”

 

Istawen asked her daughter if she could enter the room, to which Lotórie obliged.  Upon entering she greeted Luzen having become acquainted with her because of Lotórie’s attachment to the mortal maiden. Istawen was dressed in beautiful gown made of pale green cotton chiffon, embroidered with exquisite threading. A belt woven with delicate iridescent opals and dried wild grass hung loosely about her hips. Her hair was loose,  a simple garland of white flowers upon her head.

 

Luzen expressed her admiration for the clothing, “Your gown is beautiful-you look like a blooming flower!” 

 

“Hello,” a voice called from outside Luzen’s room.

 

Luzen’s eyes lit up in recognition. “Please come in!”

 

Rainiel entered the room, her dark hair swept up in a graceful arrangement of flowered garlands and delicate braids. She wore a simple dress of deep green, woven of silk. The strapless gown hung loosely, gathered at her hips by a belt of woven grass much like Istawen’s. Around her neck she wore bead crochet necklace strung with opals.

 

“My friend, it is as if a flower took the form of an elf maiden, capturing all the beauty of the stars. My goodness the both of you are beauty!” Luzen exclaimed in honest admiration.

 

Rainiel laughed, “If only my husband had greeted me with such flattery this evening; a most gracious thanks for your words. But I see you are not yet dressed!”

 

“Agreed,” Istawen added, “You need to dress and I need to dress my dearest daughter, for I am sure she would want to be the prettiest of little flowers tonight.”

 

“Oh, I had forgotten to put on my dress,” Lotórie exclaimed.  She then ran over to her mother and took the dress from her to show it to Luzen.  “Do you not think it is beautiful,” Lotórie excitedly asked, holding it against herself as she twirled around dancing in anticipation for the grand feast.

 

Luzen agreed, “But it is time little leaf for you to dress, or you will be late.  And I should heed my own words and dress as well.”

 

Lotórie quickly stripped herself of her day gown and with assistance from her mother wrapped herself in the luxuriant velvet of her small gown of deep green.  A wise choice on her mother’s behalf as the young _elleth_ had a talent for spilling all on her clothing and playing in the damp grasses that would stain a gown of lighter color.  Such are the decisions mothers of all peoples must make concerning the likes of little ones.

 

Luzen also disrobed and was assisted by Rainiel in dressing.  Luzen was not embarrassed of disrobing in front of other maidens, and the elves did not concern themselves with such matters as well.  It was a social taboo missing from the cultural repertoire of these two otherwise different peoples.

 

The females fussed over each other and laughed, sharing in the contagious excitement of Lotórie.  Their conversations wandered into familiar territory as they discussed the fallibility of the weaker sex.  Rainiel and Istawen shared anecdotes concerning their husbands and Luzen laughed mightily.  It seemed males, wherever they were from had the tendencies to display their colorful feathers both to demonstrate their bravado and to attract the fairer sex.

 

Istawen informed the group, “I fear that my dearest husband is up to some mischievous deed this eve.  On my way here I found him gathered around speaking in hushed tones with Erutunín, Legolas, and Aní.  My suspicion would not have been roused were it not for the wickedly mischievous smiles they wore.”

 

“Was my _Adar_ present,” a visibly concerned Rainiel asked.

 

“No he was not, and I thank the Valar for that.  I fear that he is unawares that the males of his household are plotting something for the banquet,” Istawen replied dryly.

 

Rainiel’s eyes lit up and a mischievous grin swept across her face, “Then we must be prepared for them, and have our own plan set in place.” Rainiel turned to Luzen and studied her closely.  Luzen shifted uncomfortably underneath the elf’s intense scrutiny.

 

“What is your plan Rainiel?” Istawen asked, eyes wide with anticipation and curiosity.

 

“Can I join too?” Lotórie asked excitedly, clapping her little hands in delight.

Rainiel glanced at her niece and answered, deadly intent chilling her words, “Yes _loth nín_ , you can play along too, but you mustn’t let anyone know of our little game.”

 

Lotórie agreed, and was now jumping in place excitedly waiting to hear what fun was to be had.

 

Rainiel then looked over to Luzen, “You have very beautiful hair, very long, and thick.  I have never seen hair so without curl that it falls through fingers like silken water.  I believe that your part, Luzen will be equally important.  Tell me, how much have you had a chance to converse with my son and dearest brother?”

 

Luzen’s eyes narrowed in guilty delight, “Not much, and of great interest to you may be the fact that neither of them think I can understand your tongue, even less speak it.”

 

Istawen giggled with anticipation, “Oh Rainiel, you are devious.  I know exactly what you plan to do, but tell me how are we going to involve our husbands?”

 

“Do not worry, it is all up here,” Rainiel replied, tapping her head with her forefinger.  “This night shall be for the maidens.  Too long have those bothersome elven males enjoyed their pompous attitudes,” Rainiel purred.

 

Luzen wondered just how long that was.

 

Rainiel, catching her thoughts, answered, “Too long dearest Luzen, too long.”

The group laughed together, sharing a sisterhood of knowledge concerning the frustrating opposite sex, and continued in their primping and preparations for the night.

 

00000

 

Istawen looked over Luzen’s dress, “You will certainly stand out this evening, for it is not our custom to wear our dress in such a manner.  The cotton dress with butterfly sleeves had a neckline that rested at Luzen’s shoulders. She wore a beaded T-necklace. The necklace, more like a choker, wrapped around Luzen’s neck, and at the front of the choker, long piece extended from the choker, like a cross without its top half. The colors and patterns of the necklace were brilliant.  

Finally, she wore a shawl of the same material as her dress that had two large stripes of white and brown running across it, the brown area being complemented with thin white stripes.

 

“It is different but very beautiful,” Istawen said, admiring the dress.

 

Luzen looked over her clothing happy with the outcome. With Luzen’s help, Írima had been able to recreate the cotton dress and shawl.  Luzen had actually done her fair share of sewing as she was intimately knowledgeable of the art.  Where she was from they had no seamstresses and had to learn from a very early age how to sew and maintain clothing and shoes.  When working on the clothing she had had no idea she would wear it to such a large event.  It was Mithrandir who initially suggested she keep herself busy during her healing time and make clothes that would be comfortable for her.

 

Luzen’s hair was worn loose, a simple garland of leaves, a gift from Rainiel, crowning her head.  It had taken Rainiel and Istawen’s dexterous and creative hands to help secure the garland in her hair, but Luzen was pleased with the outcome.  As she contemplated herself, she felt a tinge of longing, longing for her family, her clan, and her lands.  At least tonight she brought a little of it to this middle earth.

 

But the laughter of the Lotórie softly infiltrated the sadness that was beginning to build itself up around her, and Luzen smiled, thankful for the gift of children, always the most sacred and blessed possession of one and all alike.

 

The sound of bells that seemed to reverberate in a shimmer danced their way across the elven kingdom, announcing to all that the feast was commencing.  The elven and mortal maidens departed to the outdoor clearing where the banquet was being held. 

 

“I know tonight’s festivities mark the beginning of a long ceremonial period, but yet,” Luzen inquired, “all around me is only merriment?”

 

Rainiel replied, “That is because we always begin with celebration for celebration helps us heal in these dark times. The solemnity of the ceremony is not lost, though, for it is always present.”

 

Luzen nodded her head. Certainly, one thing she noticed about her Leaf People was their ability to be both at once joyful yet bear a deep and ancient sorrow.

 

Istawen continued, “The _Rodyn_ lasts through the season. Though for other peoples it is simply marked as the Highday of the week, for the Wood it is a time we seek harmony and balance, recommitting to our ancient calling.”

 

“The knowledge of Awakening,” Luzen replied, putting stories together in her mind.

 

“Yes, my dear,” Rainiel affirmed.

 

Luzen thought for a second, considering her own people’s ceremony. The ceremonies that guided her life did not correspond to a calendar. Instead they marked an individual’s life cycle. From the naming ceremony and the ear piercing ceremony of infancy, to the puberty ceremony and courtship customs of youth, and finally the ceremonies of death, Apaches dearly valued the life of every member of their clans.

 

She looked at Lotórie, asking, “The sacredness of your ways brings you strength and joy little one?”

 

Lotórie reached over and hugged the deer maiden a huge smile on her face. “It is who we are,” she replied.

 

Luzen bent over and kissed the elf child on the forehead, content that her Leaf People understood the commitment to balance, to life.

 

“Thus it is time to rejoice!” Rainiel offered as they made their way to the feast.

 

00000

 

The Mirkwood four stood in foyer of the great hall, the choice of their clothing a topic for conversation for those that caught sight of them.  While wood elves normally wore less Noldorin styled clothing, the choice of the four to dress more formally was a battle tactic!

 

Laurenor and Legolas wore moss colored tunics of spun of the finest silk.  The edges of the collar and cuffs were thickly threaded with lining of fine mithril.  The same mithril threading was used to form the patterns that were embroidered onto the front of the tunics in a delicate rendering of vines and leafs.  The buttons that ran down the fonts of the tunics were similarly mad of mithril that had embedded in the center sparkling emeralds.  The buttons were clasped by loops of mithril threading that extended from the adjoining front of the tunic.  The richness of the fabrics and materials used to make the tunics could easily have rendered the clothing gaudy, but the refined workmanship and simplicity of the design instead created a demure but stunning creation. 

 

Laurenor and Legolas opted to forego the usual cotton shirting worn beneath tunics, and rather chose to leave their chests exposed, although not completely, under the tunic.  They accompanied the tunics with leggings of velvet which were the same color as their tunics but shaded darker.  No braids decorated their heads, and instead decided to wear their hair loose decorated only by fine circlets crafted of mithril, one donned upon dark and the other upon gold hair. The two shone as if the very light of _Isil_ had been poured upon them.

 

Aní and his father, Erutunín, chose to wear less opulent clothing, but nonetheless stunning.  Their clothing also followed the color pallet chosen by Lotórie.  Their tunics were of the same dark moss coloring as the leggings of Legolas and Laurenor, whilst their leggings were of the lighter color of the brothers’ tunics.  Mithril threading was also embroidered upon their tunics, but the buttons were made of the material of the tunics as were the loops that held the buttons in place.  Regardless of their less opulent dress, the two remained a site to be seen.

 

Elven maids were busily taking items from the hall foyer outside towards the feast area, the large gated doors that guarded the cave palace, positioned in a slightly open position until all preparations were readied.  As shadow was in danger of being too near and present in Mirkwood, all that was needed to slam the keep doors shut was a thought from its woodland king.  But on this fine evening none such thoughts were needed, and Mirkwood could breathe easy for the peace they enjoyed. The feast was ready to begin!

 

The Mirkwood four made their way to the Great Doors to exit to the starlit night. The doors opened slowly and the Mirkwood four were met with a cascade of light from behind them that poured through to the outside as the doors parted open.  To the maidens that witnessed the scene it was as if the light of the two trees had suddenly been reborn and was cascading out the open doors, at least they imagined the light of the two trees would contain such brilliance.  But what caused their very breath to escape their bodies in gasps was the effect the light had upon the four elves that stood with the light behind them.  The opulence of the mithril caught the light and exploded forth with brilliance like that of a silver dawn, and crowning the silver vision was the golden head of one tall prince.  If anyone doubted that the moon had indeed slipped down upon the earth, this scene of glittering figures and light left none to doubt that.

 

The Mirkwood four stood standing, proud and erect, their heads held high.  Somehow, Thranduil who was exiting the Great Hall thought to himself, that this grand entrance staged by the four was no mistake.  No doubt was left in his mind when he glanced at his sons whose smiles were being granted to the maidens that stood and gawked.  Thranduil noted that Erutunín and Aní behaved no less boldly. 

 

Thranduil stood next to his sons and curiosity begged him to turn around to gather the looks of the audience that had gathered outside the Gates.  To all those who were gathered the magnificence of their king as he turned towards them was truly revealed as the light cascaded off his golden hair which was decorated with a crown of silvery flowers.  The long robe that gathered around Thranduil’s strong frame, flickered in the light, the light moss green fabric spun of silk and mithril thread shimmering.  Thranduil wore a velvet tunic of verdant green which had clasps of mithril running down the front, no emeralds decorated these buttons.  Simple moss colored leggings completed the outfit. Thranduil caught wind of his sons’ plans. He would not be outdone.

 

Legolas caught the newly inspired gasps and whispers that emanated from his audience and with a smirk on his face he glanced at his father who stood gloriously for all his peoples to see.  Thranduil acted with intent, and he was letting his children, the four of them know that when it came to inspiring awe he was still king.

 

Thranduil caught his sons smirk and replied in kind, mentally sharing a thought with Legolas, _Although you stand tall my son, I am still the king, and as such I must make sure that one and all alike do not forget this_.

 

Legolas responded silently in kind, _Adar, you leave no doubt that you are King._ And with these words, Legolas looped his arm around his father’s and stood proudly, not the least bit embarrassed by the admiring looks that many maidens were unabashedly sharing with the now Mirkwood five. 

 

Indeed to all that gathered in that place, they were drawn to the brilliance of the _edhil_ <elves>, much like the Quendi were drawn to the blessed light that shone from the countenance of Oromë, who appeared before them during their waking moments on Arda, mounted on his steed of _lim celevon_   <clear, sparkling, light of silver> named Nahar. (1)

 

The female Mirkwood four appeared in the clearing and were greeted by the grand site of their males, standing like gilded statutes in all their glory.  Rainiel let out an unfeminine snort, “By the Valar, these males have not the slightest humble bone in them.”  But she stared admiringly at her husband whose dark hair framed his fair face, and her Aní looked quite the adult he was.  Rainiel sighed, although Aní was little over 500 years old, she always thought of him as her elfling, and here that elfling was splendidly displaying his masculinity and no doubt his intense sexual maturity.  While she smiled at her husband, Rainiel scowled at her son’s display, but not even her dagger-like frown could dissuade her son from basking in the fire of his many admirers.

 

Istawen spoke what many in the room silently felt, “It is as if I were walking amongst the Quendi and first beheld the light of Tauron and Nahar, shining silver in the night.” (2)  Her eyes locked with her husbands, and Laurenor’s smile grew wicked as he noted the fire of desire flicker in his wife’s eyes.  But Istawen held firm, _Not tonight meleth nin <my love>.  Tonight you shall taste your own pride._

Laurenor noted that along with desire, his wife’s eyes danced with a naughty defiance, prompting his brow to cock in a challenge which was met by Istawen’s equally dazzling smile.

 

Luzen could not help but also gasp at the sight of the five elves gathered in the light that spilt from the Great Hall.  She wondered if this was why the Spanish had so hungered for gold and silver, to harness its light.  But in all her experiences never before had she seen such a splendid light of silver accented with gold that seemed to breathe from the very bodies of men.  Yet these were not simple men, they were of the leaf.

 

Thranduil ended the grand display, announcing that all should gather in the forest clearing to commence the feast.

 

As the crowd made its way out towards the clearing, Thranduil greeted two guests that had appeared from the guest quarters located in talans near the forested hill that held the palace in its belly.  Luzen noticed that Thranduil embraced the two elves warmly, interacting with them in an intimate manner that suggested they were more than simple emissaries.  The two dark-haired guests were then greeted heartily by Laurenor and Aní.

 

“And you knew that Elrond’s sons would be present tonight?” Istawen whispered to Rainiel.

 

Rainiel’s brow arched as only a child of Thranduil could manage, and replied, “Yes, I had received the message from Adar only hours before that Elladan and Elrohir would be arriving in time for the feast.  I believe this is why our beloved husbands, sons and brothers were conspiring in a circle of intrigue.  Surely they plan to embarrass and best the twins for all their past follies.”

 

“‘Tis why you asked if Adar was involved in the scheming,” Istawen correctly deduced.

 

“Yes, if he were involved then all of Arda’s fury would be loosed tonight, and we would stand no chance for enjoying a quiet evening, but as I now see he is not involved in any of this folly, my hopes for getting our fairer schemes into the games that are at hand is assured.”

 

Luzen listened intently and looked at the two guests that were being greeted by Erutunín and Legolas.  So these two identical twins were Elladan and Elrohir.  Their hair was quite dark when compared to the children of Thranduil. In fact their hair was as dark as hers.

 

Rainiel headed over towards Elladan and Elrohir as Legolas and her husband departed, bestowing the twins with warm hugs of welcome.  The three engaged in light conversation before Rainiel pursued the heart of the matter, “Let me quickly guide this conversation to what both of you know and hope is in play for this evening.”

 

The twins glanced at each other, sharing impish grins sparkling with devilish delight.  They turned their attention to Rainiel and simultaneously bowed their heads for her to continue.

 

“It seems that my husband, brothers and son have some clandestine plans in the works for the likes of you two which ought bring me much amusement, but as is their custom, these games will obviously cost me much more pain and anger than I am willing to grace them with.  I am of a group of ladies who wishes to see these archers on the receiving ends of the arrows, and we very much wish to let loose our frustrations.  Will you aid us?”

 

Elladan and Elrohir laughed and looked upon Rainiel, a friend too dear and beautiful to deny. 

 

Elladan acquiesced, “Rainiel, you know we would never deny one of your requests or act in a way that would not bring you joy…”

 

“With the exception being the scoundrel you married, that Erutunín,” Elrohir quipped.

 

Rainiel snorted amusedly, “Dearest Elrohir, although my husband grew up with you in Imladris, I was won over by his charm that I found more Silvan and worthy of an heir of Thranduil.”

 

Elrohir pretended to be slighted by Rainiel’s words, and held his hand over his chest, feigning a blow to the heart, “My heart cannot withstand the arrows you carelessly throw my way.  My intentions with you were of the purest sort.”

 

With these words Rainiel snorted indecorously, “Your intentions, Elrohir, were pure, purely born out of lust and want.”

 

Elladan intervened in the conversation, “Of which I remind you Rainiel, you were the same mind that is until you met Erutunín.”

 

Elrohir dawned a look of disgust, “I forever curse the day we invited him to come along to Mirkwood.”

 

“And I forever bless the moment you did and that he accepted,” Rainiel spoke sweetly.

 

Although Rainiel and Elrohir had once fallen to sharing in the elven pursuits of carnal delight with one another, their relationship was one formed in pure friendship, and both twins were delighted when the light of love bound their good friend Erutunín to Rainiel.  Much had been shared between Imladris and Mirkwood, much more than simple friendships and alliances.

 

Elladan continued, “Ah yes, Erutunín is more Silvan than we would like, how else would that explain him frolicking about in those caves you silly wood elves frequent.”

 

The trio laughed heartily, and Rainiel’s laughter rang above the tenors of the twins, sounding silvery and songful as it graced its way towards her husband.

 

Laurenor, who was standing next to Erutunín, had not missed how the trio was immersed in what seemed to be a lighthearted but intent driven conversation.  “Are you as bothered as I am to see my sister shamelessly flirting with Elladan, and especially, might I add, Elrohir?”

 

Erutunín could not help the red that rose in his face and replied dryly, “Your sister does know how to raise my temperature, but I would be behaving like a silly child if I allow her actions to cause me jealousy.  And I know Elrohir delights in it.  Look, see how he glances over at us, at me ever so haughtily?”

 

Legolas who had been silent in the conversation between married elves, joined in, “The challenge is set and we shall respond in kind.  And of your concerns Aní, that we would infuriate your mother?”

 

Aní was also looking over towards the trio, and was becoming more and more bothered by Elrohir’s playful twirling of his mother’s hair.  He added with much fire in his tone, “Matters not.”

 

Rainiel felt the gaze of her husband and company, “It seems we have caused the fire to burn mightily.  I am most thankful that you have set aside your plans for this evening and will be helping the elven maidens of Mirkwood.”

 

Elladan and Elrohir bowed in am exaggeratedly reverent manner, and Elrohir took Rainiel’s hand and laid a gentle but lingering kiss on her hand.  As he rose to stand, he turned to look at the group of elves that were throwing daggers his way with their eyes and greeted them in the traditional elven manner.  But his eyes danced with impish delight and his coy smile spoke volumes to the Mirkwood four.

 

Thranduil cleared his throat, trying to get Legolas attention but to no avail. His son had locked his gaze on Elrond’s sons. After a moment Thranduil delicately grabbed a lock of hair and pulled hard and quickly.

 

“Ouch!” Legolas yelped, turning to face his abuser.

 

“Now that I have your attention, do not forget to welcome our guest and escort her to her seat.”

 

Legolas had to tear Aní away from scowling at his mother. “Come with me,” Legolas said, grabbing Aní by the shoulders and steering him towards the deer maiden. “We mustn’t forget our duties.”

 

“Oh yes,” Aní replied.

 

Luzen watched as the duo approached. She had not forgotten their promise to escort her. In fact she hoped they would forget. But alas here they were, standing in front of her, bowing respectfully in greeting.

 

“Greetings Luzen,” Legolas said, remembering to use her proper name. “Allow us to show escort you to the feast.”

 

Now Luzen purposefully did not reply, simply staring at the beautiful elf with a look of confusion.

 

Aní rounded her other side and before she knew it, Legolas and Aní each looped their arm through hers and were walking her to the feast. The other guests and hosts wandered over to their tables, Elrohir and Elladan sitting with Thranduil and his family under the large beech tree that was hung with the twig like chandeliers.  Legolas and Aní  showed Araswen to her seat and took their leave, finding their way to their seats. The elves settled comfortably, sitting on the plush pillows that were strewn about on the earth, readied for the feasting ahead.

 

Elladan shared a thought with his hosts, mirth clearly tainting his otherwise serious tone, “I had forgotten that our wood elf kin delight in sitting on the ground, upon a multitude of pillows.  If I may suggest King Thranduil, maybe a more proper banquet of chairs on tables is called for?”

 

Thranduil snorted and hardily slapped Elladan on the back, with enough force to cause Elladan to cough, “Well said Elrondion, and may your memory not abandon you on your next visit to my kingdom.  We have particular dungeons that are mighty useful in refreshing one’s memories.”

 

Elladan raised his hands, motioning defeat, “My king, I do not wish to have any sort of refreshing.  I actually really enjoy sitting on the ground outdoors.”

 

“Yes,” Elrohir interjected, “I sometimes find that my brother secretly wishes he were a wood elf.”

 

Elladan replied, “Yes my brother, your words are not entirely false, but I may make the same observation of you.  Do you not also harbor a secret desire to be as a wood elf?”

 

“Or in one,” Legolas replied, eyes dead set on Elrohir.

 

The table fell silent and all eyes focused on Elrohir and Legolas whose eyes were locked in what seemed a challenge of egos.  Erutunín was the only one making a sound as he was choking back the wine he threatened to spit out.  Rainiel’s mouth fell open, shocked by her brother’s forward words, but surely he was not that thickheaded to imply that Elrohir-

 

Elrohir broke the silence, “Legolas, an elf after my own heart.” An impish grin spread across his face and Legolas in turn burst out laughing.  Rainiel shook her head in frustration.  Though they loved to engage in challenges of wit and innuendo this was certainly not one of those moments. 

 

Laurenor interrupted the exchange, “Elrohir, you are the only other elf that I know that is as fond of female wood elves as my _muindor tithen_ <little brother>.”

 

“Here, here!” Legolas shouted and he and Elrohir lifted up wooden goblets filled with wine, drinking to their shared pastime.

 

With these merry words, the minstrels broke out in song and the candles that graced the twig chandeliers burst into flame.  The feasting had commenced.

 

Luzen who was seated at the main table with Thranduil’s family took in the entirety of the feast, from the décor, to the battles of wit that the male elves engaged in.  She was seated towards the end of the table, between Aní and Lotórie.  Aní himself was seated next to Legolas, who sat across from Elrohir.  As none seemed to take notice of her, Luzen decided to thoroughly enjoy her meal of duck and quail, with garnishing of berry sauce.  The berries used in the sauce were seasonal and extremely rare, a treat for all to enjoy.

 

As she devoured a piece of meat, Luzen felt eyes fixed on her.  She slowly looked up from her tasteful task and found two sets of identical eyes studying her.

 

“Legolas,” Elladan called out, “you have failed to mention that there is another guest joining us tonight.”

 

Legolas looked up from his own ministrations with his meal, and caught what Elladan was referring to and Elrohir was studying with his eyes.

 

“Did Aní not introduce you to our guest,” Legolas asked, throwing an accusatory glance towards Aní who was paying no mind to the conversation.  In fact his eyes were closed and he was moaning slightly from his utter enjoyment of the food he was ferociously consuming.

 

Legolas shook his head, “It seems my nephew is enraptured with the meal tonight.  Please forgive his oversight.”

 

Legolas turned towards Luzen who had tidied herself by wiping her mouth and hands clean of the delectable berry sauce.  “Elladan and Elrohir, allow me to introduce you to our guest, Luzen, daughter of Goyan.”

 

“And Chusi,” Lotórie added, “of the Chíhéne, red paint people.”

 

Luzen smiled and nodded at the elves whose gaze was as identical as their features. She was surprised that Legolas knew that much about her. She was under the impression he did not even know her name!

 

Elladan and Elrohir responded in kind, with Elladan beginning, “I am Elladan, and this is my brother Elrohir-“

 

“Sons of Elrond Peredhil, Lord of Imladris, and the Lady Celebrian” Elrohir finished.

 

The two added in unison, “It is with great honor that we greet and make your acquaintance this evening.”

 

Legolas interrupted the greetings, “Alas, our guest does not speak our tongue, and from what I have gathered only understands words here and there.  I am afraid we are locked away from each other.”

 

Elrohir glanced at Elladan. “Yes,” Elladan replied, “Mithrandir informed us of your most unusual guest, but we were under the impression that she was able to communicate-”

 

Rainiel interrupted, “Oh yes but only visually and with much care, but no words are exchanged.”

 

“Oh,” Elladan and Elrohir cooed in unison, looking at each other, a hint of mirth sparkling in their eyes.

 

Legolas eyes furrowed in confusion as something in the exchange caused him to feel somewhat unsettled, as if a much needed kernel of knowledge was being deliberately kept from him. But as he looked at the twins, they were smiling and nodding at Luzen, and she was smiling and nodding at them.  He must have been mistaken, Legolas thought to himself, and refocused on the delight set out before him.

 

* * *

  


**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Taur¬- means literally both great wood and king  
> Rodyn, or Day of Powers, is the sixth and last day of the Elves week, dedicated to the Valar. Also known as Highday. 
> 
> (1) The Silmarillion describes how the first of the Vala, Oromë, appeared before the newly awoken elves, or the Quendi on his mount named Nahar: “for the light of Aman was in his face, and all the noblest of the Elves were drawn towards it” (1977: 47).
> 
> (2) Tauron is the Sindarin name of Oromë.
> 
> AN: I had a difficult time finding Silvan influenced names so I used this cite that offers Elf names of Silvan origin. How accurate they are I am not sure! http://lotrscrapbook.bookloaf.net/ref/altnames.htm


	18. An ode to Glorfindel

**Chapter 18:  An ode to Glorfindel**

 

The evening’s real feasting commenced once all food was consumed, but the wine continued flowing.

 

Although Luzen could communicate in Sindarin she missed some of the intricacies and subtleties of the language; thus some of what was said at the table that night she did not quite understand. As the Elves sat around listening to tales and minstrel songs about the _Rodyn_ , Luzen began feeling the weight of sleep tug on her.

 

“Here have some of this. It will give you energy,” a male voice spoke softly as he sat besides Luzen.

 

Luzen was going to answer but she remembered her role, whatever it may be, in Rainiel’s scheme. Instead she took the warm drink offered to her by Aní.

 

The young elf arranged himself so he was leaning comfortably against a tree, sipping on wine, the bottle set out on the low table before him. He nodded his head encouraging Luzen to drink the tea. He then tried to describe the effects of the tea to her by pretending he was sleepy, sipping the tea, and springing wide-awake.

 

Luzen nodded her head in understanding, eliciting a warm smile from the elf. As she drink the honey-laden tea a warmth enveloped her body and she felt a buzzing energy slowly reach the top of her head. Her eyes opened wide and she looked at Aní tipping her head to one side in a show of thanks.

 

The two sat in silent companionship for a while. Luzen sipped her tea while Aní nursed his wine. Breaking the silence, Aní spoke, “I know you cannot understand me. I do not know why I find myself speaking to you, but I wanted to tell you that I am glad you joined us on this night.” He gifted Araswen with a bright smile.

 

Luzen smiled in return, her eyes bright.

 

Aní settled back into the tree. “I feel I have come to know you in my dreams Araswen,” he purposefully called her hoping the name would elicit a reaction.

 

It did. Luzen’s eyes went wide, her mouth opened as if to speak. She could not keep up the charade, but Aní did not give her an opportunity to speak.

 

“You are beautiful,” he offered, feeling emboldened by what he thought was her inability to understand him. “Beautiful to me in a way I could not imagine until I saw you that day I found you.”

 

Tears threatened to spill from Luzen’s eyes. She had not expected his words. She raised her hand to touch her earthen star’s face.

 

This surprised Aní. It certainly seemed she understood the meaning of his words.

 

But before Luzen could touch him, Aní heard his father calling him.

 

“Son, bring us some of that wine you are nursing. We have run out.”

 

Feeling slightly embarrassed, Aní clumsily stood up, grabbing the wine bottle, excusing himself.

 

“Um, forgive me Araswen, my adar….” Aní stopped. She could not understand him after all.

 

Luzen watched as Aní made his way to his father. Had she just imagined what had transpired? She looked around the feast and found Rainiel headed in her direction. Luzen stood, still dazed by Aní’s confession, but she was happy for it.

 

Rainiel took the somewhat bewildered Luzen by the arm and led her over to where Elladan and Elrohir were twisting tales to and fro to the delight of their all female audience.  Sounds of delicate laughter and visions of twinkling eyes were gifted to the twins.  Such lightness and joy was a reprieve for the two orc hunters who spent most of their time out in the wilds, wreaking vengeance on the cause of their mother’s hasty departure from middle earth.

 

It was a widely shared opinion that the increased lightheartedness of Elrohir and Elladan and their love for outrageous pranks was a sort of pleasurable relief for the two who otherwise headed out on more dark and dangerous paths.  Many also believed, and rightly so, that the loss of mothers to the dark creatures was what bound the princes of Mirkwood with the junior lords of Imladris.  And on more than one occasion the young elves would together scour lands in search of the loathsome orc, exacting bloody revenge upon their common enemy.

 

Rainiel glanced over to where Legolas, Aní, Erutunín, and Laurenor were again gathered talking in whispers.

 

“Elladan, Elrohir,” Rainiel announced as she and Luzen arrived to disrupt the circle of maidens that had gathered around the Imladris duo.

 

Elrohir and Elladan quickly halted their tales and gathered Rainiel in warm embraces.  Rainiel turned to stare down the elven maidens who were throwing dagger looks her way, “Do not worry ladies, you shall have your lords at your disposal when it matters, and I would dare add that my Aní and my brother Legolas appeared quite jealous that you all were gathered here around Elrohir and Elladan.”

 

A voice laden with a strange accent added, “I overheard them whisper how they too wished for the lavish attentions of maidens this evening.   I think they do not wish to be out of the company of the fairer sex this evening.”

 

Some of the elven maidens looked over at Luzen with surprise, others simply with large smiles.  Regardless of their reaction to the strange woman’s use of their language, the maidens looked at each other and giggled knowingly.  At once the group did a roundabout and flocked towards where Aní and Legolas were sitting, flanked by Laurenor and Erutunín.  Though Legolas and Aní were too absorbed in conversation to hear or see Luzen address the group, they certainly heard the chatter heading their way.

 

The look on Aní and Legolas’ face was priceless.  They looked like elves who were about to be circled by ravenous orcs.  Laurenor and Erutunín simply grunted and glanced over to Rainiel who was doubled over with laughter. 

 

Standing next to her, Luzen wore a look of satisfaction.  As Laurenor and Erutunín looked over from Rainiel to the woman, Luzen waved at them, wearing the best smile she could.

 

Erutunín leaned over towards Laurenor, sarcasm dripping from his tone, “It would seem that my wife’s interventions with the young mortal are beginning to bear fruit.” He continued, whispering, “I think it is time we let these two know that the young woman indeed can speak our tongue. It was entertaining, but now not so much.”

 

Laurenor was massaging his temples with his thumb and forefinger, “True. We do not need another ally in my sister’s intrigue.”

 

As Laurenor finished his sentence, the group was swarmed by a large number of very attractive wood elves who were cooing and giggling in the direction of the bachelor elves.

 

Although irritated at first, Legolas’ annoyance soon was taken over by his stronger desire to woo and elicit blushed cheeks.  Aní too had been initially annoyed by the interference of the maidens into their well-formed plans for the evening, but before he knew it, he too was holding court with his uncle, happy to be distracted from his earlier confession.

 

Erutunín gasped, “Now what? With these two so easily distracted, how do we ever expect to proceed with our plans?”

 

Laurenor threw his hands up in the air, “Ai, it was too easy for these two to be sidetracked.” He looked over to where his sister was gathered with the twins but had a hard time peering through the mass of bodices that were gathered around him.  What he did see was his wife and daughter laughing merrily at his predicament.  Lotórie was jumping up and down with excitement and waving madly at her father. 

 

Laurenor’s eyes narrowed as he looked at his wife, and he realized too late that something was afoul this evening.

 

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Elrohir and Elladan’s eyebrows perked as they heard Luzen address the group of maidens. 

 

Elrohir spoke aloud the duo’s thoughts, “ ‘Tis true what Mithrandir said, that you, _hiril nîn_ , have come to speak our Sindarin tongue.  We are glad this rumor is true for it would be a crime not to be able to exchange pleasantries with such a dark beauty.”

 

Elladan nodded in agreement and the two each took one of Luzen’s hands and gifted her with the softest of kisses upon them.  The twins released her hands and they fell limply to her side.

 

“Now look at what you have done,” Rainiel chided, “our mortal maiden is now rendered speechless.”

 

Indeed, Luzen’s mouth hung open and her body stood as still as stone.  This was the second time she had been rendered so by a pair of male elves.  Finally finding her voice, she looked towards Rainiel and asked, “Do they always come in pairs?”

 

Rainiel laughed heartily at Luzen’s innocent question, understanding that Legolas and Aní had most likely assaulted her in the same manner.  “In your case Luzen, I fear they do.”

 

Luzen wore a look of confusion as she looked over to Rainiel who was obviously entertained by the situation.

 

Rainiel, seeing her consternation, added, “Oh dearest Luzen, I do not mean to laugh or take likely your predicament.  It is just that these two,”  Rainiel pointed accusatory fingers to Elrohir and Elladan, “and my brother and son are like wild beasts when they smell a young innocent creature in their wake.  You my dear mortal maiden are such an innocent, for you are unawares of their histories as devourers of maidens and virtue.”

 

Rainiel continued, “And may I add you are too innocent for your own good.  Although a warrior in your own right it seems that in your lifetime you have not come across the likes of these four.”

 

Elladan and Elrohir, as if on cue, bowed before Luzen and added in unison, “At your service, _hiril nîn_.”

 

“You mean they enjoy causing the heat to rise in one’s face,” Luzen asked in her forthright manner, bringing her hands over her cheeks.

 

“Indeed _morn iell_ , dark maiden, it is one of our favorite goals in life,” Elrohir responded-

 

“To light the fires of passion and desire in the fairer sex,” Elladan continued.

 

“And quench these flames in the most delectable of mortal and immortal unions,” the two concluded their well-rehearsed seduction.

 

“But you must choose carefully my little _Araswen_ , for some are more skilled in bringing pleasure than others,” a deep and melodic voice announced from behind Luzen.

 

She spun around, sputtering, “Araswen? Who here knows that name?” and found herself looking up at Legolas who was sharing a look of challenge with the twins.

 

Legolas paused turning his gaze to Luzen and Rainiel. “So it seems I have been led astray regarding our guest,” Legolas replied.

 

Elladan laughed, “Or maybe you were too so absorbed in yourself to give our cousin the opportunity to respond to your flattery. For I know you my friend and you cannot help yourself with the fairer sex.”

 

Rainiel cut in, “ ‘Tis enough of the male egos that are on display.  Look, see how your orchestrations are causing our guest from far off lands to question the sanity of you all?”

 

Rainiel then whispered to Luzen, making sure the others heard her, “Do not mind these males, they are mere birds puffing their chests and displaying their feathers.  A new and exotic addition to their flock has excited them a bit too much and they wish to race to see who will be first to claim it.”

 

Luzen looked at the three male elves that were now trying hard to look in other directions.

 

Finally, Legolas was the first to respond to Luzen’s questioning and reproachful gaze, “Dearest guest, you must not judge us too harshly.  I am a simple wood elf, guided by simple tendencies.  I do not wish to treat you lightly or with disrespect.  Please accept my most humble apologies.”

 

Loud coughs and snorts were heard coming from Elladan and Elrohir’s direction, but Legolas coolly ignored them and proceeded to plant the chastest kiss he could muster on Luzen’s cheek.  As he placed the kiss on her he glanced over towards Elladan and Elrohir and if eyes could smirk, Legolas’ did so.

 

Luzen announced to no one in particular, “Now I know what a dazed rabbit must feel like being pawed about by a mountain lion before he is to devour it.”

 

Rainiel shoved Legolas away from Luzen and took the dazed maiden away from the pack of elves who were circling the mortal.

 

As they walked away, the three were caught up in what seemed a heated debate about their abilities with the fairer sex.  They missed the giggles that were being shared by Luzen and Rainiel as they approached Istawen and her daughter.

 

“Our plan is working perfectly,” a very pleased Istawen announced, “but let us seem more concerned for we are being spied upon by our husbands.”

 

“And I dare say our Luzen could not survive another innuendo or innocent kiss.  These male elves are too good for their own good. Though there is a slight change of plans as Legolas now knows you speak our tongue,”  Rainiel added.

 

Luzen shook her head vigorously in agreement, “These elves certainly understand the many ways under the moon to woo a maiden.  I was ready to crumble when Rainiel pushed Legolas away from me.  How do they do it?”  Luzen’s voice trailed off dreamily, thinking of an earthen star.

 

Istawen had to shake Luzen whose eyes were glossed over and was wearing a rather silly looking smile.  Finally, Luzen was jostled back to her senses.

 

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“Ah, I dare say I know what drives our friend.”

 

“Pray tell brother, what so draws Legolas to the flicker of a candle that will fade all too soon,” Elrohir chided.

 

Legolas simply rolled his eyes at the twins who stood, arms crossed on their chests, pretending to be holding a conversation on a most serious matter.  But he remained to listen to the theorizing of his dear friends.

 

“I believe,” Elladan purred, sliding slowly to stand next to Legolas, “that Legolas here is tortuously curious about the fires of mortal kind.”

 

Elladan moved closer to Legolas, his chest pressing into Legolas’ shoulder, his whispered words falling close to Legolas’ ears.  He continued his observation, “I know this only too well.”

 

Legolas raised his hand to wave off Elladan’s verbal barrage, but to no avail.

 

Elladan insisted, “Do not deny it _gwador_ , sworn brother, I know what you seek more intimately than you.  You forget I am Peredhil, the blood of mortals runs in my veins, though ages in lineage have passed.  I can taste the tempestuousness of mortality on my tongue, its sudden fires.  In your mouth, in your being you wish to be intoxicated in it friend.”

 

Legolas was now looking directly at Elladan.  Both he and Elrohir knew him too well, had shared many adventures and tragedies that bound them in brotherhood.  They knew his weaknesses, if they could be called such in elven kind, and he knew theirs.  And so Legolas listened, listened intently, not because Elladan was attempting to ridicule him, but because Elladan was hitting on something that lay within him.

 

Elladan moved away from Legolas and Elrohir observed the exchange quietly. 

 

Elladan continued, “Our immortality is gift and curse.  It brings us great joy, great sorrow.  We know the greatest of love, the kind a mortal could never fathom, so deep and constant the very thought of it frightens them.  No mere mortal can love an elf and be loved in return.  Our passions run like rivers that empty out into the vast sea, but nothing is lost in that immensity, just gained.  Legolas, you may not seek love, but you do seek pleasure, pleasure of the kind that only an immortal can take from mortal kind.”

 

Elladan began circling Legolas, speaking softly, but with the depth and passion of knowing bourn only through the line of Elrond.  “I know what you can seek because the remembrance of it pulses in my veins, haunts my dreams.  It is an elixir exquisite to our refined palate, but it burn, oh it burns.  Mortals, their passions indeed also run like rivers, but theirs is the briefest course, like rapids that toss and tumble.  One can get hurt. One can even die if the course one chooses is not wise.  They will never know what it is like to find an end such as ours and flow freely in deep and open waters. That is our fate, but theirs we know not.  And that my dear friend, that uncertainty, the not knowing, the tasting of it is thrilling, if only for a brief moment in our eternity.  But tread carefully. ”

 

Legolas wore a thoughtful smile on his face as he listened to Elladan’s words, finally adding his own whispered thoughts, “ _Gwador,_ you speak in riddles and yet these words ring the clearest and truest I have heard you speak of late.  What of this stranger, so unknown to even you?    Will her breath taste as those of mortal women you have come to know?  Will her scent be as present and lingering as those whose lives succumb too quickly to death?  I imagine not and yes for there is usualness in her mortality but strangeness as well.  Not much we know of her, but know this, she is who she seems to be, nothing more- and yet…  I cannot say for I have not solved that piece of the riddle.”

 

“Truly a diplomat and a well trained son of Thranduil you are,” Elladan purred in return.  “Your words speak truths and yet other ends are suggested, and I am as curious as you dear friend, your challenge is met.”

 

 “How can you two stand there and wager upon a maiden, a maiden whom is a guest of this kingdom, whose heart has known much pain,” an angry voice announced behind them, but it was not Elrohir. 

 

Elladan and Legolas turned to find Aní standing with fists clenched, and eyes narrowed.

 

Legolas replied, “We do not mean her harm Aní.  We will be careful with her, you need not worry.”

 

Elrohir who had been silent up to this point interjected, “Ai Aní, ‘tis a hard thing to understand at your young age, but you will.”

 

Aní replied sarcastically, “Then please help me understand.”

 

Elrohir glanced at Legolas and Elladan who shrugged their shoulders.  He then obliged Aní’s request, “Aní you have had no experiences with mortal women, is this right?”

 

Aní nodded his head, affirming Elrohir’s observation.

 

Elrohir continued, “We do not pretend to offer to those of mortal kind that which they do not expect.  What they receive is a gift of sorts, an experience that does them no harm,” _for the most_ part, Elrohir thought to himself. Resuming,  he offered, “It is something they will treasure for their brief lives.  They take from us as much as we take from them, though they may not conceive that at first, but it does come to them.”

 

“And what exactly is it they take from us?” Aní asked genuinely curious.

 

“A glimpse into our constancy, the feeling of agelessness, and intensity they will never again capture.”

 

“How can this be a good thing? You do not know the sorrows she has endured!” Aní exclaimed, protective of Araswen.

 

Elrohir answered quietly, and somewhat sadly, “Because they may come away knowing that their mortality is not a curse, not an end to be feared.  Somehow, I cannot say how for I do not know this, we gift them with sacred, almost blessed awareness.”

 

Legolas added, his tone tinged by the sorrow that is a ready companion of immortal kind, “My Adar has spoken of this.  He once said that to love a mortal whether in spirit or in body brings us to such ends for it reminds us of our certainty and theirs.  I have yet to satiate my full desires with a mortal maiden.  Somehow, my father’s long hand finds its way to me, interrupting me at the most inopportune times,” Legolas added attempting to lighten the tone of the conversation.

 

“Is this why he has always discouraged us from forming too close of relations with men and warned us of dallying with mortal women,” Aní asked, realization of certain conversations with his grandfather gathering in his thoughts. It was more than this for Thranduil’s prescience hinted that his children’s lives were forever to be changed by the Second Born in ways that had not yet come to be.

 

Elladan, who also did not like the dark turn the conversation had taken, interrupted, “So you see Aní, your dear guest stands to gain two fold.”

 

“And how is that?” Aní asked, regaining some of his sarcasm.

 

Elladan self assuredly announced, “One which Elrohir explained, and two, the most blissful night of bodily union they will ever come to know in their short lives.  So you see we mean no harm.”

 

“Ha, that is unless one of us falls in love,” Legolas chided.

 

“Now that Legolas is impossible with the likes of you, and you two also,” Aní charged, implicating the twins as well. There was something in the way Aní glared at Legolas that indicated there was something more to what Aní was saying.

 

“ ‘Tis why we risk nothing, _hênmaethor_ , child warrior,” Elladan teased.

 

Aní landed a solid punch on Elladan’s shoulder, eliciting a yelp from the older elf, “At least this _laes,_ babe, can cause true pain.” Aní wanted to protest louder, but he feared if he did he would arouse the suspicions of the elder elves.

 

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“Just look at them, circling each other like prey,” Istawen pointed out.

 

Rainiel rolled her eyes, “My brother and those two are too easy to distract.”

 

Istawen giggled, “Just look at the look on our husbands’ faces, they know their defeat is at hand.  Rainiel you knew only too well how to distract these _ellyn.”_

 

“My brother and friends are as consistent as _Arien_ and _Tilion_ crossing the skies.  ‘T was not hard to convince Elladan and Elrohir to join with us in exacting retribution from these Mirkwood four.”

 

“But you would think these formidable Orc hunters, sons of Elrond, lore master, would be clever enough to notice that you were merely using them to distract Legolas and Aní from their plotting,” Istawen added.

 

Rainiel chuckled lightly, “Yes you would think those two would be more discerning and not rush into aid me without considering what they were aiding, but such is and has been the folly of males- to fall unawares into the sweet smiles of the fairer sex.”

 

Istawen bent over and whispered into her daughter’s ear, “Pay heed to the lessons you are learning for they will aid you greatly in all the paths you choose to walk.”

 

Lotórie’s eyes were bright with understanding, and added most seriously, “So it is true then, that _ellith_ [female elves]are indeed more intelligent than _ellyn_ [male elves] _._ ”

 

Istawen and Rainiel had to suppress their laughter, and Rainiel finally answered her young niece, “Ai Lotórie, well said, well said! Now my dearest niece, your grandfather needs a hug!”

 

Lotórie turned and saw that Thranduil was sitting silently watching the feast before him. She turned to her mother who offered an encouraging nod, and off she ran to join her _daeradar._

 

Rainiel, eyes burning with the efficiency of a master technician, turned to Luzen, “Pray tell _Araswen_ , how experienced are you with the weaker sex?”

 

Luzen’s eyes squinted with confusion, her voice littered with uncertainty, “I do not understand your question?”

 

Rainiel reformulated her question to the young mortal, “Have you laid with any men, that is have you frequented in the physical pleasures between two mortals?”

 

“Oh,” Luzen’s mouth opened in realization, “I have taken husbands but these partnerings were brief due to the instabilities faced… out there.”  Luzen’s vision seemed to retreat inwards as she remembered her life before that moment.

 

But before she became too lost in memories, Istawen prodded Luzen with more pleasant questions, “So our mortal maiden is more experienced in the ways of the wide world than we would think?

 

“You see, those three,” Rainiel explained, “are plotting at this moment.” Rainiel continued, responding to Luzen’s unspoken question. “They are plotting about you, dearest.”

 

“Oh,” Luzen whispered, “but what of Aní?” Her question seemed innocent enough, but there was more to it.

 

Rainiel responded, “No, my son is not, thankfully.” Seeing the relief on Luzen’s face, Rainiel continued, though misjudging what she thought was Luzen’s relief at not having to deal with another elven male. “No what drives those other three is something of the peril and sorrows of the First Born that Aní has not fully encountered.” Rainiel paused. She was not going to allow herself to tread darker paths. Changing the subject, she added, “Would receiving such pleasure anew present a problem for you?”

 

The directness of Rainiel’s question did not offend Luzen. Speaking of such details was not frowned on in either culture. Luzen could not help but laugh at the last question, and she answered as any true warm-blooded woman would, “Not in the least bit, in fact I fear it has been too many winters since I have felt the warmth of another. “ 

 

Luzen’s face suddenly grew serious with realization of how she was going to be involved in the plans.  She whispered somewhat concerned, “Do you mean that I am to actually play along with those three?”

 

Rainiel reached over to wrap her arm around Luzen’s shoulders, “It is not guaranteed, but it is a possibility solely of your choosing. I simply did not want you to be alarmed by their boldness. Now that we understand one another, what say you, can you do it?  You only stand to reap the benefits, and of course we stand to watch those men humiliated by their own egos.”

 

Istawen pressed the mortal, “You yourself have said that it has been too long since you have felt the heat of another, and I can speak truthfully when I say, you will be most pleased with the prowess of elven males.”

 

Luzen could not help but giggle, her cheeks burning with the images the words were conjuring in her head.  She answered the female elves, “I would be dishonest if I did not admit that the beauty of all of you has not bewitched me, but the beauty of your males is beyond what I could imagine in men, and my body warms with the thought I may…” Her voice trailed off as she blushed deeply, hiding her face behind her hands.

 

 “Then let us proceed, and you my dear have nothing to loose,” Rainiel spoke lightheartedly, grabbing Luzen’s hands from her face and holding them reassuringly.

 

Rainiel added, “If you think these elves are delectable, just wait until you meet my Adar’s newest guest.  He arrived but moments ago escorted by one of our patrols.”

 

00000

 

“So what do you know about our young mortal guest?” Elladan pressed Aní.

 

“Not much,” Aní lied.

 

Legolas interjected, through a wicked smile, “I think that she is unknowing of the many ways of the mortal world.”

 

Elrohir replied sarcastically, “But then what would you know dear friend.  You yourself admitted surprise that she spoke our tongue.”

 

Elladan added, “But you did quite well in concealing your surprise at hearing her strange accent pronounce Sindarin words.”

 

“Ai, it was a surprise.  I did not think she spoke our tongue.  I know not when this occurred, nor how long she could understand and communicate in Sindarin.”

 

Aní’s eyes grew wide with realization, “Legolas, how long do you think she has understood us? Do you think she understood us when we escorted her here?” Aní was not asking because he did not know the answer to his question but because he realized that he had shared more than he anticipated with Araswen.

 

Legolas smacked Aní upside the head, “Do you ever stop to consider the words that fly out your mouth?  You do not think that she somehow, I would dare say miraculously began to speak our tongue just hours ago?  It is obvious that she understood us when we went to greet her.  I wonder just how long she has been able to understand us?”

 

Elrohir flicked his finger sharply across Legolas’ ear, causing the golden haired elf to flinch with pain, “And that you Legolas Thranduilion, Prince of this realm, decorated warrior, was not able to perceive that this mere mortal maiden understands, nay speaks our tongue?”

 

It was Aní’s turn to smack Legolas upside the head, which elicited a quick jab in Aní’s side from the flustered Prince. 

 

As Aní rubbed his aching side, Legolas shook his head, laughing at his own misjudgment of the mortal maiden.

 

“You do know that it was Mithrandir’s doing,” Elrohir announced to the perplexed duo.

 

Elladan added, “Would you believe it?  The Valar themselves interceded and helped our youngest stranger to be gifted with the knowledge of our tongue.”

 

Legolas nodded in understanding, “It could only be Mithrandir who could conjure up such miracles.  His power is indeed beyond anything I know.  Not only can he summon the Valar, they actually listen to him!  How many times have I called out for help and had my pleadings remain unheard.”

 

Elladan shook his head in agreement, “One can never truly understand the ways of  Mithrandir and much less of the Valar.   And Legolas, pleading to the Valar that your hair be the most glorious hair in all of Arda is not a selfless act.”

 

Aní snorted, “No indeed, not in the least bit.”

 

Aní quickly received another jab, this time to his uninjured side, and Elladan was swiftly knocked onto his bottom.  As a surprised Elladan glanced up at his aggressor, he could see Legolas looking down at him, a most innocent smile gracing his lips. Meanwhile, Aní surreptitiously walked away from the three elves, hoping to find Araswen. If nothing else, he wanted to know if she would run from him.

 

Legolas purred, “Elladan you must be more careful, you never know what wood spirits you conjure when you insult their dearest prince.”  Legolas was sweeping his hand in an exaggerated manner through his hair, “The Valar not need intercede on behalf of this elf. No aid is needed here.”

 

“Ai, Elladan, I believe that in place of Legolas I am seeing a certain resurrected Lord, chief of the House of the Golden Flower,”  Elrohir exclaimed, clutching his heart in mock adoration.

 

Elladan replied, “ ‘Tis true my brother, this type of display can be none other than Glorfindel the beloved!”

 

These taunts elicited a hearty laugh from Legolas.  He knew all too well the playful nature of the mighty Glorfindel, although many times he and the twins suspected that behind Glorfindel’s playful façade existed a certain pompousness.

 

Legolas held out his chest, and struck his most imposing stance as he bellowed,  “I am indeed Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower, mighty Balrog slayer, friend of Thorondor Lord of the Thoronath of old, released from the Halls of Mandos to serve the mighty line of Noldo Kings.” Legolas then touched his hand to his heart in the formal elven greeting, and as he bowed he extended his hand in front of him, adding a series of exaggerated hand flourishes. (1)

 

Elladan was now lying on his back, laughing mightily. 

 

Elrohir decided that the play-acting needed further embellishment.  He threw himself at Legolas’ feet, clinging to them in mock adoration.  Elrohir threw his head up towards a Legolas who was trying hard not to break his serious demeanor, and with eyelashes batting Elrohir purred in his best imitation of a feminine voice, “Oh fair one, I throw my life at your feet for I fear I shall not be able to live out the night!”

 

Legolas spoke, attempting his best mighty Glorfindel voice, “Fear not weak one, for I have in my heart the remembered vision of the _thoron_ [eagle] _._ My memory leads me to see from the _Crissaegrim_ to _Hithaeglir_ , my hand remembers the strength I drew as I defended the hosts of Gondolin and as I slew the Balrog come to destroy us at _Cirith Thoronath,_ the Eagles’ Cleft.” (2)

 

As if on cue, Elrohir started crying and swooning at Legolas’ feet.  Legolas had a hard time keeping a straight face as true tears fell down Elrohir’s cheeks.  Elladan on the other hand, was rolling on the ground in an attack of laughter.  Indeed, Legolas and Elrohir’s performance had attracted a host of elves as audience, and so inspired by the multitude, the two descended into further mockery of the survivor of the House of the Golden Flower.

 

Legolas knelt down, and began to wipe away the tears from Elrohir’s face.  Elrohir looked at Legolas with pleading and enamored eyes, clutching the golden haired elf’s hands.

 

Legolas struggled to speak through the fits of laughter that were overtaking him, “Do not cry fair beauty, too many _tears unnumbered_ have fallen.  Remember who stands before you!.”  At this point Legolas stood again, and Elrohir wrapped himself around the standing elf’s leg, swooning in anticipation. (3)

 

Legolas held out his hands towards his audience, bellowing, “For I was there, aiding my Kings, in the fifth battle- _Nirnaeth Arnoediad_ , where Fingon fell, and Turgon of Gondolin thus carried forth the hope of the Eldar as new King.  And I with Ecthelion defended our people from the swarming hosts of Angband, to the pass of Sirion! Success came, but with much loss, but I Glorfindel, of the House of the Golden Flower, persevered with much valor, courage like no other!” (See 3)

 

Legolas looked down to Elrohir who was trying to swoon, but was more caught up in fits of laughter.  Legolas' serious face broke into a wide and silly grin, and he ended his questionable tribute to Glorfindel, Balrog Slayer.

 

The audience was eerily quiet, but Elrohir and Legolas paid no mind to the silence.  Legolas concluded, his voice shrill from trying to contain the laughter that attempted to overcome him, “ ‘Ai, ai! A Balrog is come!’ A Balrog of Morgoth!  You were not able to vanquish this golden head for I have returned, returned and outlived your master in these lands, to see that the line of Kings continues!  But more importantly to allow all on this middle earth to walk next to me, behold my beauty, to behold the glory of the Golden Flower in all its brilliance!” (4)

 

Elrohir let out a loud swoon and fell as if dead at the feet of Legolas, and Legolas bowed deeply before his audience.  The only sound heard was Elladan’s snorting and the singular clap of appreciation from an audience member. 

 

Legolas and Elrohir glanced at each other through their hair, their brows furrowed in confusion.  Normally, the crowd gathered before them would be hooting and yelling, cheering their performance, but not this time- something was amiss.

 

In fact, something was amiss, as the performers looked up towards their audience, their eyes fell on the single elf clapping, but this elf was no mere elf.  On his tunic were embroidered golden flowers, symbols of his house, and his hair fell, as true to his name, the golden-haired.  There, in front of Legolas and Elrohir, stood Glorfindel, the Balrog Slayer, now appointed caretaker of the twins by Elrond, clapping, and wearing a deadly smile, a smile that could only be conceived by one returned from the Halls of Mandos.

 

“Thranduilion beware of the _iaur_ , ancient, for an ancient _cardh,_ deed, in the long history of the Eldar has a way of repeating itself,” the ancient lord warned.

 

Legolas swallowed hard as the imposing Glorfindel spoke, his warning not ignored, but its meaning not quite clear in the younger elf’s mind. Legolas took the elder elf’s statement to mean that his folly could take him to such an end as Glorfindel’s. 

 

Legolas queried cautiously, “At your hands _hir nîn_?”

 

“Nay Legolas, not by my hands although they do itch to ring your neck at this moment.  Nay Greenleaf be wary of the _Valarauko_ , these demons of might and fire may still prey the depths where shadow looms undisturbed.”

 

The dark tone of the decorated elder Legolas to shudder, and in the currents of his thoughts was foreshadowed a deep and terrible fear he would one day meet, so the melody of the _Ainur_ whispered.

 

“Eh-hem,” Glorfindel cleared his throat, snapping Legolas’ attention back to the elf lord, “And dearest Elrohir, I did not know that you too have fallen victim to our dearest Prince’s fair virtues?”

 

Elrohir was about to protest Glorfindel’s acerbic comment but decided that it would best suit him to remain quiet.  After all, why was Glorfindel in Mirkwood?

 

As if answering Elrohir’s silent question, Glorfindel’s lyrical but stern voice rolled out the response, “It seems that the sons of Elrond do not find it necessary to report to their father in a timely manner, causing said father to worry when no word is received from his Orc-slaying sons.  And being Lord of Imladris your father found it necessary to send me to locate the likes of you two.”

 

Elladan and Elrohir glanced at each other, their faces turning white.

 

Glorfindel continued in his lecture, “But I insisted, ‘Lord Elrond, I am sure your two sons are uninjured.  In fact I assure you that they are probably running amuck somewhere.’ But your Adar would not heed my advice, being overcome by the worry that often accompanies parenthood, and to the likes of you two nonetheless.  Your Adar has been tired of late, reaching his senses to dark places that are stirring mightily, struggling as is his fate with the Shadow that threatens to consume us all.  Such is his state, as you two are both intimately aware, it does not allow him to ascertain your safety at all times.”

 

_You two should know better,_ Glorfindel sent his thoughts to the twins.

 

“And so I find myself a guest of King Thranduil, but to my surprise I find that Mirkwood’s youngest Prince and Imladris’s own Elrohir are enraptured in a dubious tribute to myself with Elladan rolling on the ground in laughter most unbefitting for his station.  I thank you deeply for your welcome and am glad to know that despite my traveling through dark places to find the likes of you, you all hold me in such high esteem.”

 

Glorfindel’s icy declaration ended and the silence that surrounded the twins and Legolas was deafening.  The three felt as if they were mere children being scolded by a disappointed parent. What they failed to see was the winks that were exchanged between Glorfindel and Thranduil.

 

Luzen was tugging on Rainiel’s sleeve rather urgently, “Of all creation, who is this elf?!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hiril nîn-my lady
> 
> Araswen-deer maiden
> 
> (1) Thorondor was the King or Lord of Eagles of the Crissaegrim (See 2). Thorondor himself bore the body of the slain Glorfindel out of the depths of the pass the Eagles Cleft where both Glorfindel and the Balrog he slew fell. Silmarillion
> 
> (2) The Crissaegrim are the mountain-peaks south of Gondolin. The Hithaeglir is the Sindarin name for the misty mountains. Imladris lies just west of them. The Silmarillion
> 
> (3) From Silmarillion, the Nirnaeth Arnoediad- the name given to the fifth battle where Gothmog slew Fingon, the Noldorin King, also named Tears Unnumbered
> 
> (4) This quote is taken directly from The Fellowship of the Ring, in the chapter, “The Bridge of Khazad-Dûm.” You can say this a bit of foreshadowing, which Glorfindel most keenly and spookily points out.
> 
>  
> 
> Please review!


	19. Chapter 19

** Creation Song of Ilúvatar  **

 

**Chapter 19:  The Set Up**

Aní spied Araswen. His heart dropped. The moment Glorfindel stepped into the clearing and Araswen laid eyes on him, he observed her awe of the elder Lord. How could she not? Glorfindel’s light shown brighter, a glimpse of his being from the other side. He stood “tall and straight; his hair was of shining gold, his face fair and young and fearless and full of joy; his eyes were bright and keen, and his voice like music; on his brow sat wisdom, and in his hand was strength!” [1]  

 

As Aní made to turn, he felt a gaze upon him. He looked up and saw Luzen looking in his direction. She offered him a timid smile. He awkwardly raised his hand in greeting, silently reproaching himself for being so clumsy. Instead, Luzen laughed, more carefree, and in her eyes he noticed a different sort of brightness.

 

00000

 

Elladan and Elrohir were secreted away behind a large beech, having a quiet but intense conversation. 

 

“Did Adar mention to you that we were supposed to have sent notice to him of our whereabouts?” Elladan nervously prodded his equally nervous twin.

 

“No, he did not mention anything.  We have conducted ourselves as we always have.  Something is amiss.” Elrohir’s eyes grew wide with apprehension, “Do you think something may be wrong with Adar?”

 

Elladan paused to consider Elrohir’s question, “I too considered this, but we would have known if something was wrong with Adar.  We always have and he likewise.  Although Glorfindel is right, things of late have been weighing more heavily on him.  Maybe the Shadow bid him to have false tidings of us?  But this still does not explain him sending Glorfindel for us.  Never has this happened.”

 

Elrohir grunted disapprovingly, “Right you are.  Glorfindel made me feel as if I were a mere child, without any wits about me.  Whatever is wrong, I do not appreciate this for I still maintain we have done nothing wrong.”

 

“Well only mocking Glorfindel in that little tribute of yours and Legolas.”

 

Elrohir cringed slightly, “Let us go speak with him and make sure we clear the air from all the confusion that is muddling it.”

 

The twins broke from their huddle and returned to the feast that had picked up again.  Glorfindel was seated next to Thranduil, and the two imposing Elves seemed to be lost in conversation.

 

But before the two could make their way to Glorfindel, Lotórie ran up to them, distress clear in her voice, “Elladan, Elrohir, you must come quickly!”

 

The two, clearly concerned with whatever Lotórie needed, momentarily gave up their path towards Glorfindel, paying their full attention to the elfling.

 

“Please come quickly.  You must help me,” Lotórie implored.

 

“What is wrong.”  Elrohir asked, his hand cupping Lotórie’s chin in a comforting manner.

 

“My cat ran into the woods where the spiders will surely eat her!  Please you must help me find her,” Lotórie sobbed, tears welling up in her eyes.

 

Elladan asked, “Which way did your feline companion run, little one?”

 

“That way,”  Lotórie cried, beginning to move in the direction of the path she pointed out.

 

“Let us be off then,”  Elrohir announced.  The twins ran after Lotórie who took them into the woods in search of her cat who had lost its way and was heading perilously towards the vicious bite of Mirkwood’s spiders.

 

Unbeknownst to the twins, there were no spiders in the vicinity, which Lotórie headed.  In fact there was no cat, no feline companion needing of rescue.  All this distraction was a part of a plan, a plan that had Istawen waiting in the woods to announce that the cat had been found and returned safely just moments before the twins’ arrival.  And that she, Istawen was grateful that Elladan and Elrohir had volunteered their famous abilities in the search for her daughter’s friend. 

 

Oddly enough, the twins did not notice there were no cat tracks on the path Lotórie led them. In fact there were only the slight imprints of an Elf’s light feet, clearly those of a female. They did not notice that that the tracks of the supposed returner of said cat were no where to be found, and rather incredulously the twins did not think twice of the fact that no one had crossed them on their path towards the cat, returning with Lotórie’s cat in arms.  No, the twins did not stop to consider these facts.  If they had they might have become suspicious, but this night was proving to be more out of the ordinary than usual.

 

Rainiel, wanting to take advantage of her brother’s precarious and embarrassing positioning decided her plan needed further guidance, “Adar, do you not think it would be most fitting if Legolas was the one to tell the tale of Glorfindel to our guest?”

 

Thranduil chuckled, “Why yes it would be.  It seems Legolas remembers his lessons well.  Legolas!  Put your learned knowledge to some use, and enlighten our dear guest with the tale of Glorfindel of the House of the Golden Flower.”

 

Legolas groaned, this was not his favorite way to spend a night of feasting, but he knew if he crossed his father, the repercussions would extend beyond a night of feasting. “Very well Adar,”  Legolas finally answered, his tone weary and most unenthused.

 

And so Legolas began telling Luzen the tale of Glorfindel, of his bravery in the fifth battle, where Fingon fell and how Glorfindel fought bravely to defend and preserve the line of kings…

 

0000

 

Thranduil cleared his throat, and soon enough all around him had quieted to listen to their king.  With a slight smile, Thranduil announced, “We have been gifted with the presence of many unexpected guests this evening and of one has just agreed to sing us a song!”

 

The feasting Elves gathered murmured appreciatively as none other than Glorfindel was preparing to gift them with a song, no doubt a glorious tale from his long history.

 

Glorfindel cleared his throat and the Elves fell silent, in anticipation of the Elf lord’s song.  And so began the song of Glorfindel, but to the surprise of all, this song contained no tales of his doing.  Rather, Glorfindel sang a tribute to Mirkwood’s likewise golden-haired prince, but at first none could have foretold that his moving rendition would turn into a bawdy song worthy of mortal mouths that frequent taverns of ill repute.

 

_Long ago, now lands in slumber, in Menegroth and Doriath’s wake_

_Roamed an Elf whose skill was none surpassed in all of Beleriand_

_Beleg Strongbow some recall, said to be friend of truest make_

_Marchwarden of such fairland, always held his heart n’ hand._

_Cúthalion, the Strongbow, died by his own sword, Túrin’s fate._

_And the grief of the mortal sword bearer was forever sealed_

_So ended Beleg’s life, master of woodcraft like none of late_

_Remembrances of friendships past laying silent in northern field._

 

_Yet there are some who claim Strongbow’s glories_

_And I sing this little melody to render clear_

_Such tall tales and half-hearted stories_

_Are spun from youthful folly- much too little fear._

_Loyalties lay unrewarded upon lips too shrewd_

_With fair kisses won by distorted tales_

_Such actions begging to be exposed as lewd_

_By their own account-  such delightful males!_

_And so young Princes who dwell in woodland realms_

_When much wine warms, should check tongue in cheek_

_For fair faces may be wrongly hailed to head up helms_

_Where only the brave may walk and not the meek!_

_So ends this song from he who is no liar_

_Be quick young Prince and head to shower_

_For in your sleep of babes, an accident did transpire_

_Courtesy of one Golden Flower._

 

As the song ended, one loud voice was heard laughing amidst the quiet giggles. 

 

Glorfindel bowed deeply to his greatest admirer, “My most humble appreciation, Thranduil.  I am pleased that my simple tune has so delighted you as I only hoped it would.”

 

“Glorfindel your tongue is as colorful as your deeds!” Thranduil bellowed, and with the King’s hearty approval, the entirety of feasting elves gifted the pleased Glorfindel with applause and uproarious laughter.

 

0000

 

Elladan and Elrohir returned to the feasting area after their foiled attempt to return Lotórie’s cat to her.  To their delight they managed to hear the final versus in Glorfindel’s ode to Legolas, but their mirth was contained by the fact they had yet to speak with the ancient lord about their father’s concerns.

 

Elladan whispered to Elrohir, “Do you think Glorfindel might have a song or two for us in his vast repertoire?”

 

Elrohir grunted, “I would most certainly say he does, and they are probably more scathing in nature and colorful in tongue!”

 

00000

 

As Legolas heard Glorfindel’s searing tribute to him, the blood began to rise, but something in him caused him to quiet his heart as he heard his father laugh jovially, as if he carried no cares, and Legolas felt a surge of happiness tinged by sorrow, in the manner of the immortal. 

 

Thranduil had lost too much, and he fought daily to maintain his peoples in a semblance of safety that allowed for there to be joy.  Shadow tried to snake its way into his realm but Thranduil and his children came together to defend that which they held most dear, as did all of the Elves of the Wood. 

 

Legolas heard Glorfindel’s words and laughed quietly to himself. He did deserve this did he not?  He looked into many of the Elves delighted faces trying to enjoy the moment, but inside he felt a wavering of sorrow begin to slowly gain strength.

 

Legolas thought to himself, “Tis good to see you so carefree Adar.  I will give my life if need be for these moments, for these moments we all share together.”

 

Legolas looked over towards his brother and sister, studying their bright countenances, allowing their joyful glow to reach him.  He looked over and saw Lotórie talking excitedly to Elladan and Elrohir.  What was she up to, Legolas pondered?  He could tell there was a devilish spark in her eyes.  Nothing good, he concluded.

 

Legolas’ voice whispered to the night skies, “Let no one think these moments come easy and are not paid for with blood, but ‘tis worth every drop, even if I have to bleed myself slowly to ensure such beauty, such life.  Ai Elbereth, starkindler, your silver lights bring solace to my troubled soul.”

 

Legolas suddenly felt lighthearted and he looked up towards the stars in the West and bowed his head slightly, and although all of Mirkwood was glancing towards their Prince to gage his reaction to Glorfindel’s tribute, Legolas simply smiled, joy emanating from his very essence.  In this moment, Legolas was not the attractive Elf maidens fancied for his physical beauty.  He transcended that.  In this moment he was beautiful, like a vision from the other side, from the West, pure of heart, and full of life, the hope of the _Edhil_.

 

But as Thranduil gazed upon his son he recognized the burden of his joy and he let his thoughts wonder into his son’s, _We are here together_ _ion nín_ [my son]. _We share the same sorrows, the same joys, and I pleasure in your life, your beauty.  Let not this world or any other taint your brilliance.  But beware son for I have a_ _fear in my heart that you will endure in this middle earth much more than your heart can bear.  Promise me you will look after yourself._

 

Legolas answered his father in kind, divulging his inner most thoughts. _I will not abandon these lands, not while my heart still craves the songs of the trees, the caress of these winds upon my cheeks.  One day I will cross the seas and follow my fate into the West, but I will do it only of my own volition, with a heart full of love and grand memories to last me until the end of Arda.  Fear not Adar, my heart will only gain, not loose_. _My energies, my passions are devoted to this endeavor, to maintain all that is beautiful all that shall shine forth in a new dawn even if only for the eyes of the second born.  I will leave behind many trees and animals who shall eternally remain friends, and I will leave behind a piece of me in this place, endor [_ middle earth _].  This I do not doubt, but my heart will never be sundered from middle earth, never_.”

 

Thranduil sighed, _Tis the second born of Ilúvatar I fear.  It is a strange fate we share with mortal men in these lands.  They have granted us short joys but they have also given us long-lived pain, Legolas_.

 

Legolas eyes looked towards his father with compassion and understanding. _Naneth loved the Second Born for the newness and awe in life they saw.  She understood that the Edhil could gain more from these brothers, the Second People.  Father, I know in her love for mortal kind our Nyére met her end._ Legolas had tears running down his cheeks, as he broached a subject not visited upon by anyone in Thranduil’s family. _Even though Isildur’s weakness condemned us to an uncertain future, she remained ever hopeful that in the second born there was born hope.  She taught me to love all creatures of light that walk on these lands, to respect all that is different. All this she said was a gift.  ‘Tis this gift of love that drives me on._

 

Thranduil walked over to his son, placing a loved-filled kiss on his forehead, and held him in a tight embrace.  His thoughts now closed to his son, Thranduil reflected privately, _My heart fears that I may loose you, loose you to the stories that bind mortal men to this land, but in your heart is her hope and I must cling to that. I must hold to her love, to all our love_.

 

Thranduil looked over his son once more and smiling bitter sweetly took his leave to return to his people.

 

Legolas felt Thranduil’s pain as his father embraced him. He respected his father’s wishes to keep his thoughts private and did not pry, but Legolas clung to the feelings of hope that remained in his father.  To this Legolas would always hold- to hope.

 

Glorfindel who had witnessed the moment between father and son, found his way to Legolas who seemed to need words of encouragement.  “You carry a heavy weight upon your shoulders Greenleaf, and it is one I do not discourage.  The Eldar, we are fading, but many of us still have hope and that can never be lost.  Hold to that Thranduilion, hold to hope: in hope there is love; there is passion; there is beauty; there is life. Hold to that and your heart shall never feel empty.”

 

Legolas answered, his voice a mere whisper, “Your words comfort me for I know your path has tread scenes from our ages that will remain triumphs of hope, triumphs of good.  Glorfindel, I may jest, but you besides my father, I hold in the highest esteem.” Legolas clasped Glorfindel’s arm in the way of Elven warriors, Glorfindel reciprocating the embrace, acknowledging the younger Elf’s words. 

 

Glorfindel’s mouth grew into a sly smile, “But do tell what you thought of my homage to you young Prince.”

 

Legolas’ face contorted into a look of amused disgust, “I suppose I deserved that colorful song,” and soon the two golden-haired Elves were laughing in shared amusement at each other’s tributes to one another, but more importantly they shared a hope.

 

00000

 

Elladan and Elrohir cautiously approached Glorfindel.

 

Elrohir cleared his throat, “Eh-hem, so what did you discuss with Legolas Glorfindel?”

 

Glorfindel raised an eyebrow towards Elrohir and said nothing.

 

Elladan decided to get to the heart of the matter, “Elrohir and I have done nothing out of the ordinary.  We have acted as we have always had for centuries.  Never have we meant to cause Adar any alarm.  We may sometimes be light of heart, but you Glorfindel know too well what drives us as we scour these lands.”

 

The quiet ferocity in Elladan’s voice surprised Glorfindel, and somewhat appeased by the moment he had witnessed between Legolas and Thranduil, Glorfindel decided he needed to tread lightly with the twins.  “You two needed to be put in your place after what I arrived to find. One in mock homage to me and the other rolling on the ground like a drunkard,” Glorfindel added, his voice betraying no emotion.

 

Elrohir murmured, “And for this we apologize.”

 

Elladan pressed, “We do whole heartedly apologize, but I maintain we have acted in no way contrary to Adar’s wishes!”

 

Glorfindel chuckled, “Right you are Elladan, right you are.”

 

The twins looked at each other, sharing confused shrugs, then they turned their attention back towards Glorfindel.

 

“Your Father insisted a messenger find you two on your travels as Arwen is home for a short time and wished to let you know as you two have not seen her for many seasons.”

 

Elladan and Elrohir’s faces lit up with the message that their sister was in Imladris for a short time.

 

Glorfindel continued, “I insisted on finding the likes of you two myself as I sometimes need a pleasant outing myself, and was pleased to track you two here, to Thranduil’s halls.  I have been meaning to visit the stubborn Elf for ages it seems, but had not come around to it.”  Silently, Glorfindel acknowledged that his visit tread other more serious matters, concerning the safety of the Elven Kingdoms.

 

Glorfindel saw the scowls that formed on the twins’ faces but he waved them away, “You two deserve much worse from me, after all, but we shall have peace-- for now.”

 

The predatory snarl that Glorfindel graced the twins with caused them to sober quickly.  They knew that once they were in Imladris, Glorfindel’s retribution would be swift and unwelcome.

 

Rainiel approached the twins following their conversation with Glorfindel, “How fare our guests?”

 

“Better than a moment ago,” Elrohir sighed, clearly relieved.

 

“That is good,” Rainiel answered without gusto.  Her face became bright and she looked towards the twins, “Would you two be game for a contest of archery skill?”

 

Elladan smirked, “Why I never thought you would ask.”

 

“I have been waiting to test my skills of late with your Woodland kin,” Elrohir added.

 

“Then I shall suggest it,” Rainiel responded excitedly, and she walked off hurriedly in direction of the King.

 

In the meantime, a number of bows and quivers had been collected and deposited somewhere in the near forest, in the direction Elladan and Elrohir had gone to search for the supposed lost cat.

 

In the Wood, elves were never parted from their bow and arrow, even during feasts.  If one looks closely during one of these feasts it is easy to spot said set within his or her owner’s grasp, but on this eve, four Elves of Thranduil’s Royal House, no less, had been relieved of their bows and quivers full of arrows.  The stranger being that not one of the highly regarded warriors had noticed their missing friends.

 

During the searing tribute to Glorfindel, a stealth group of Elven hands had carried away the honourable bows and quivers, as the Elves had been too easily distracted by their follies.  But this play-acting had to end, and upon its conclusion, sweet Elven voices purred and acted merry, making sure said Mirkwood four would remain in blissful ignorance.

 

Istawen glanced at Rainiel, giving her an affirmative nod, and Rainiel, seeing her moment approach, cleared her throat, gathering the attention of those around her:  “As we are honoured with such fine and notable guests, I must beg that these festivities be graced with a competition of sorts!”

 

Thranduil looked at his daughter and laughed inwardly.  Her voice was too sweet and her smile too conniving.  Something, the Woodland King decided, was amiss.

 

The Silvan Elves shouted their approval, eliciting questions concerning the competition, “And what sort of competition dost thou have in mind?” Thranduil asked his eldest.

 

“Adar, by your leave, I would suggest an archery competition.  We are, after all in the Wood, home of the finest archers in all of Middle Earth.  Let us put our skill to the test and see how we fare against Imladris’ best?  Elrond’s sons have been waiting for such a challenge!”

 

“A fine idea,” Thranduil replied. “What say you my fair folk? Shall we hold such a war of skill?”

 

Elves all around cheered! Quickly different targets were chosen, and practice targets brought out and set up amidst the trees.

 

Legolas snorted, “Is this a fair contest?  Those gathered here know most certainly well, who is to be victorious in such a match!”  Although for once, Legolas was not referring to himself and referred to the superior skill of Wood Elves in general, some around him took his demeanor as entirely self-centered.

 

Elladan cried out, “ ’Tis a fair match indeed, young Prince, and I would not be quick to utter victory if I were you.”

 

Glorfindel laughed smugly, “I too would be honoured to enter my skill in such games!”

 

Rainiel quickly took reign of the verbal sparring, “From Imladris then we will have Elladan, Elrohir and Glorfindel.  From our fair woodland realm we shall have Legolas, Laurenor, and Aní.”

 

Erutunín’s mouth dropped to argue his absence, but Rainiel quickly quieted him, “And although my dear husband is virtuous with a bow and arrow, I would think this be a matter for those who cling more closely to Silvan charms.”

 

It was Laurenor’s turn to add to the melee of voices, his voice fraught with devilish intent, “Spoken well sister, for who knows what treachery may still lie in your Noldo husband’s heart.”

 

Erutunín’s face turned a bright red, and he was about to exchange a choice set of words with his marriage-brother, but Thranduil’s laugh cut him off.  Aní snickered silently, not daring incur the wrath of his Adar.  Although the son of a Noldo himself, Aní felt nothing but Silvan, and he took an immense pride in such attributes.

 

Rainiel then glanced at her husband apologetically and gave him a pleading look.  Erutunín was undone by her pouting, and bowed slightly towards her, raising his arms in a show of retreat.

 

Thranduil announced, “Let it begin!”

 

Elladan, Elrohir and Glorfindel retrieved their bows and quivers, letting nimble fingers quickly strap the implements of choice in place.

 

Legolas, Aní, and Laurenor went to retrieve their bows and quivers, but to their dismay they were not to be found.  Their brows furrowed in concern as their search became frantic.  All those around them began to take notice of the search for the missing weapons.  This did not bode well.

 

Elladan could not hold his tongue, “Are my eyes deceiving me, or do I really have before me a group of Wood Elves who have lost their bow and arrow?”

 

Legolas looked up from his search and threw Elladan a murderous look.

 

Elrohir also had to seize on the opportunity, “It seems we do have a group of misbegotten Wood Elves in front of us.  Do you not agree Lord Glorfindel?”

 

But Glorfindel was not easily pushed to such light banter. He knew too well of the Silvan tenacity with bow and arrow, and he understood that Thranduil’s sons should be the most voracious in upholding the etiquette that concerned the bow and arrow. Someone was putting these elves in their place!

 

Elladan and Elrohir meanwhile were caught up in a barrage of snorts as they looked upon the three Elves who were now frantic in their search.

 

Legolas straightened suddenly, “You!” he pointed towards the twins, “You two have some hand in this!”

 

Elladan scoffed at the idea, “We most certainly do not.  Our hands are clean.”

 

Laurenor was now also looking at the twins with accusatory eyes, “I too would not put it past them.  Better to embarrass us this way than embarrass themselves in a show of skill.”

 

“I would wager that you three are so full of fear in matching our skill you simply feign loss of your bows and arrows for everyone knows that a Wood Elf never looses sight of his weapon of choice,” Elrohir retorted, his voice calm but steely.

 

From the whirlwind of voices,  a small voice spoke up, “Ai, ai!  I believe I unwittingly led my kin afoul!”

 

All turned and looked towards the speaker of such daunting words, little Lotórie.

 

Legolas prodded, “What do you mean little one?”

 

“Elladan and Elrohir asked me if I could show them my favorite hiding place.  Oh and I was so happy to show them.  You know how I love the twins!”

 

“Show us where you took them!” Laurenor cried out.

 

Lotórie then trotted off in the direction she had taken the twins on and pointed down the path, “That way!”

 

Legolas knelt down and surveyed the forest floor, “Ay, I have found their tracks!”

 

And sure enough there were three tracks, two sets of identical tracks, and one of an elf child.

 

Elrohir cried out, the bandages quickly falling from his eyes, “We have done nothing!”

 

Aní glared at them, “We shall see!” He and the other Elves ran down the path, following the tracks, and finally came to a slight opening in the trees.  There strung between two trees were a set of four bows and their respective quivers, dangling precariously in the light wind.

 

Legolas, Laurenor, and Aní turned and looked towards the accused Elves.

 

Elladan was going to shout out his innocence, but was cut short by Elrohir who muttered, “ ‘Tis no use.  We have been set up.”

 

They glanced at Lotórie’s whose eyes were round with excitement, and she looked at them, sparing them a slight smile that no one saw as everyone’s eyes were focused on the twins.

 

“What say you now?” Legolas announced.

 

Elrohir spoke quietly, “It would appear we are at fault, and all I will say on this matter is that we did not have a hand in this trick.”

 

Laurenor approached Elrohir briskly, “Do you imply my daughter is lying?”

 

Elladan piped in, “We did walk with Lotórie in this direction, and although all evidence points to us, we continue to maintain that we had no hand in this folly.  Someone must have sought to take advantage of the situation.”

 

Elrohir looked imploringly at Lotórie, but soon enough she was whisked away by her mother.  In but a few moments, the young Elf was sent off to bed with an appointed caretaker.

 

Istawen offered, “My poor daughter is so shaken by the situation I found it best to send her off to bed.” She then looked sadly in the direction towards the twins, “How could you manipulate my little one into helping you in such trickery?”

 

Elladan and Elrohir’s mouths fell open in shock.  Certainly, Istawen who had personally thanked them for their help on the search for the cat, whom they had found in the clearing earlier was not trying to make others think they were the ones responsible…

 

Oh but she was.

 

Elladan glared at Istawen, and decided he was not going to be maneuvered into accepting culpability for this act.  “Alas, my brother and I have fallen victim to the ageless sorcery of the fairer sex.  I believe you will find fault not in us, but in those who dare to openly implicate us through fair and feminine smiles.”

 

Glorfindel meanwhile noticed the exchange and quickly deduced that the twins had in fact been set up, and by Thranduil’s daughters no less.  He leaned closely to Thranduil who stood next to him and whispered, “I am reminded why I am enamored of Wood Elf maidens- their cunning is dangerous.”

 

Thranduil chuckled, “Ai, Glorfindel, if these fools took but a second to wrap their minds about the situation, they would quickly find the true culprits.  One of which has smartly chosen to excuse herself to bed.”

 

Glorfindel replied, “It is always said that Wood Elves begin their lessons in cunning at quite a young age.  Your House, King, is well managed and versed in this art, down to the youngest member.”

 

Thranduil bowed his head in acknowledgement to Glorfindel and the two Elf lords shared knowing grins.

 

“Adar,” Legolas cried out, “you find our situation amusing?”

 

Thranduil replied smoothly, “Why yes I do.”

 

Legolas did not expect Thranduil’s reply, and he shot him a look that would have rendered the _Shadow of the East_ paralyzed in fear, but Thranduil was Lord of the deadly gazes and not impressed by his son. [2]

 

Laurenor cried out, “But Adar, surely you must find this situation disturbing!”

 

“Disturbing, yes, and amusing, definitely,” Thranduil retorted.  “But what is most pressing at this moment is the fact that the three of you, leaders in arms of Mirkwood, lost awareness of your weapons.  This lapse in concentration is more to blame than any one person.  If you three, Laurenor, Aní, and Legolas, had been doing what is asked of you, this would have never happened,” Thranduil gestured up towards the trees where the four sets of bows and quivers were hung.  “And it appears to me, that a marriage-son of mine has suffered the same fate.”

 

As Thranduil’s words found the crowd Erutunín’s face went pale.  His bow and quiver seemed to be chiding him from where they hung.  Erutunín turned to face his wife, “You knew my bow and quiver would be up there.  For this reason you did not wish me to participate.  I appreciate your attempts to avert any embarrassment that would befall me because of such a lapse, but my fair wife, how did you know my bow and quiver were up there?”

 

Glorfindel found his moment to add his thoughts, “ _Thranduiliell_ your husband asks a most interesting question [3].”

 

All eyes were focused on the beautiful Rainiel, who was not easily shaken.  “Lord Glorfindel, since you insist, I did see the alleged act take place.  I saw as the culprits stealthily took the weapons that hang before us and headed off in this direction of the woods.  I did not say anything because I figured it was a harmless joke that served a purpose as well.”

 

Rainiel turned to her brothers and son, “That we need to maintain our alertness even amidst a feast.”  She looked directly into the eyes of her brothers, the gleam of joy not lost to Laurenor and Legolas.

 

Erutunín interrupted his wife, “But what of me?”

 

“’Twas a selfish act on my behalf.  I did not want my husband ridiculed in front of my Adar and guests.”

 

Erutunín eyed his wife suspiciously.  Rainiel was never one to protect her husband’s feelings from anyone.  In fact her words led him to believe that his wife did indeed have more to do with the incident than what her carefully chosen words were portraying.

 

Elrohir implored his once lover, “So if you saw who took the weapons you surely saw that it was not my brother and I!  Please help us, help me!”

 

Rainiel covered her mouth in surprise, “But Elrohir, I never said it was not you two I spied.”

 

Elrohir’s face froze, and Elladan snorted, understanding quite well who it was that had set them up.  Elladan whispered for only his brother’s ears, “If you had been the lover you claim to have been- to be- Rainiel would not now be delighting in devouring us.”

 

Elrohir pushed his brother away and spoke up in their defense, “We still hold to our word that we did not take these weapons.”

 

Legolas laughed, “My own sister saw you two take the weapons.  You have been caught.  The jest is complete.  I say now we bludgeon you in a matching of skills which you so sneakily have tried to avoid.”

 

Rainiel offered, “But my brother, be careful of being too boastful. You did loose sight of your weapons.”

 

Legolas was red in the face, glaring at his sister, knowing all the men had been set up, but his sister was right. He never should have lost sight of his bow.

 

“Listen well my fellow friends. Let this serve as a lesson to be ever vigilant. We are always in service of the Wood.” Rainiel let these last words find their way to the intended recipients.

 

“Remind me never to cross Rainiel,” a wood elf sitting near the King, was overheard sharing with another who was nodding in agreement.

 

Glorfindel was now beside himself in amusement.  Thranduil again whispered in the golden-haired Lord’s ear, “But then again, Rainiel never did say that it was in fact Elladan and Elrohir who took the bows and quivers.”

 

Glorfindel sighed, “You have a mighty strategist and diplomat on your hands Thranduil.  I am sure her skills are an asset to your Kingdom.”

 

“Indeed they are my friend, indeed they are.”

 

0000

 

Legolas swiftly climbed one of the offending trees that held the strings where his bow and quiver were precariously hung.  As he leapt nimbly onto one of the branches, he felt the trees quiver with amusement. “Not you too,” Legolas whispered to the tree. Retrieving the bundles one by one, Legolas gently dropped the quivers to waiting elves below. He gathered the bows, carefully shouldering them, and then he lightly jumped to a nearby limb, before leaping to the ground.

 

Aní diplomatically excused himself from the contest, declaring he wanted to watch with his naneth. Though truly, Aní wanted to sit next to Araswen, curious to observe her reactions to him.

 

Legolas had simply mumbled, “Fine go sit with your nana.”

Rainiel sat next to Istawen, a smug look on her face.

 

Istawen giggled, “That was too easy.”

 

Luzen chuckled. It seemed that the _ellith_ had an upper hand over the men.

 

“Oh there will be retribution,” Rainiel answered. “And we will be ready.”

 

The wood elves around them were singing a light-hearted melody, an ode to the old games of _Mithrim_ and _Doriath,_ from where some of the Sindar that mingled with the Silvan dwelt ages ago.

 

Glorfindel asked to inspect Legolas’ longbow. He was not familiar with this longbow as the longbows that the wood elves favored on long journeys were somewhat smaller, allowing them to be held half drawn for a quicker release; though no less deadly.

 

The woodland longbow had no handgrip. Surely, he thought to himself, there was a reason for this? Glorfindel was more than a proficient archer, but it was not his favored weapon. He favored swords; whatever the sword-longsword, broadsword, greatsword- he was its master. He knew he stood no chance to best the likes of Elrohir and Elladan, less the sons of Thranduil. Thranduil himself was known to be one of the best marksmen, but that gift was now put aside to be King. But it would be fun nonetheless. Glorfindel drew Legolas’ bow, whistling in appreciation of the strength it took to draw the mighty longbow. 

 

Legolas approached Glorfindel, noticing his inspection of the great longbow. “The draw weight is that of an _ellon_.”

 

Glorfindel gave Legolas a shocked look. “It would take me some time to ready my back for this. The draw length on these for an elf is impressively long. No mortal I have ever known could wield this bow.”

 

“No they could not,” Legolas agreed. “There is no handgrip on these bows,” Legolas explained, taking the longbow in his hands, “in order to grip higher or lower to shoot at a greater distance.”

 

“Will this not break the bow?” Glorfindel inquired.

 

“It will if not positioned just right,” Legolas replied. “That is a lesson we learn very young, and you never forget it!” Legolas graced Elladan and Elrohir a knowing grin as the two were listening in to the conversation.

 

“You are lucky he is letting you hold it. Wood elves are loathe to lend these great longbows to just anyone,” Elrohir declared, locking eyes with Legolas.

 

Laurenor joined the conversation. “It is true for these bows are made from a rare wood. Not just any wood can withstand the pressure. We are not so lucky here to have the wood of the _mallorn_.”

 

Glorfindel grunted. He was duly impressed. “I believe I will let the lot of you children go first.”

 

“As you wish, my lord,” Laurenor curtsied, gifting Glorfindel his characteristic smirk.

 

A female voice from behind Glorfindel caught his attention. “My lord, why do you not leave these games for the children and join me to watch?”

 

Without turning, Glorfindel replied, a devilish sparkle in his eye, “And who asks me so set aside my honor?”

 

“Oh hush, and come and join me for it seems the ages have past since I last laid eyes on you!”

 

Glorfindel turned to face the maiden. A sincere smile graced his face but a singly raised eyebrow spoke volumes of Glorfindel’s surprise. For there, stood Galuiel, a name lost to history, an elven maiden as beautiful as the night, black hair and bright grey eyes, a glimpse of the glory of the Noldo kings of the First Age.

 

“Come then,” Galuiel directed.

 

Glorfindel shrugged his shoulders and followed the elf maiden to sit with the audience.

 

Elladan and Elrohir looked as if they had seen a ghost.  Not only was the maiden a sight to behold, the light of the Eldar shone brightly upon her.

 

“Are my eyes deceiving me?” Elladan whispered.

 

“No they are not,” a distracted Legolas replied. “I heard that the elves from the outer settlements had come, but I did not know that Galuiel would be among them.”

 

The blush in Laurenor’s cheeks betrayed his sentiments. “As a child I told myself I would marry her.”

 

“We all did,” Legolas replied, “though she would have none of us. In truth she was a dream for all of us in our youth.  We have always known her heart, though not bound, belongs to another.”

 

Elladan and Elrohir were now curious beyond containment. “Can it be?” They asked in unison.

 

“That will have to wait,” Laurenor directed, “We are ready.”

 

00000

 

The last target was simply for show. Legolas was in the lead, though not by much, but the archers were now disinterested in finishing the competition, finding the boisterous crowds more entertaining. But the elven crowds cheered their brothers on.

 

“For the Wood!” several shouted.

 

Another added, “See it done Legolas! Laurenor has not the heart.”

 

Laurenor sauntered over where Legolas was peering through a tangle of trees into darkness. “Nay it is not heart I lack. It is wine!”

 

A hearty cheer erupted from the crowd and Istawen ran over to fill her husband’s glass.

 

Laurenor quietly whispered to his brother and wife. “I cannot shoot another round. My arm, the scar, it is refusing to cooperate.”

 

Istawen gifted her husband with a sorrowful look. Legolas betrayed no emotion, but his heart felt heavy.

 

With his free hand, Laurenor mussed Legolas’ hair, “Do it for me little brother. See it done.”

 

Laurenor turned to the crowd, urging them to cheer, “See it done!”

 

The crowd responded, chanting the phrase, “See it done!”

 

Legolas responded, readying his longbow.

 

Elrohir and Elladan, who had stepped aside, knowing they had no chance at the final target, noticed that Laurenor was ever so slightly favoring his draw arm. Only their healer’s knowledge allowed them to see the slight wavering of the arm and those of a father.

 

Thranduil motioned for Laurenor and Istawen to sit next to him to watch Legolas aim for the final target. As Laurenor flopped besides his father, Thranduil warmly embraced his son, quietly acknowledging his sacrifice.

 

Thranduil spoke under his breath describing every detail as Legolas moved to stand, nock the arrow, draw, hold and aim. “That’s right, your hand just a bit higher. Now will you choose a dead-loose? Yes well done.” Thranduil spoke.

 

Legolas loosed the arrow, the strong thud of the release and the hissing of the arrow as it pierced foliage was all that was heard for a split second, but the crowd erupted in cheers before it could even be ascertained the arrow hit its mark.

 

“Well done, ion n _î_ n!” Thranduil shouted, Laurenor standing next to him whistling.

 

Glorfindel leaned over to Galuiel, “But they do not know if it found its target?”

 

Galuiel rolled her eyes at Glorfindel, knowing he was purposefully being obtuse yet honestly curious at the same time. “We all know the arrow found its mark for it rang true my lord. Did you not hear the song of the arrow?”

 

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows, “Excuse me my lady, the song?”

 

“You are such a Noldo!” She chided the Golden-haired warrior, laughing at Glorfindel’s posturing.

 

“As are you Galuiel,” Glorfindel replied, his tone now a whisper for only Galuiel’s ears.

 

The elf maiden kept her eyes on Legolas as he bowed before his father and the crowd, a knowing smile slowly creeping onto her lips.

 

Elladan and Elrohir knew well enough to know the arrow hit the target, but despite this, they, with Aní, went to retrieve the arrow almost 400 yards away.

 

“How far would this arrow travel in a clearing that could hold it,” Elladan asked Aní on their way back to the feast. Aní looked at the arrow and target he held in his hands. “Over 500 yards, I am sure,” he replied matter of factly [4].

 

“That is a long way,” Elrohir offered.

 

“It is indeed,” Aní answered.

 

The three stepped into the clearing and Aní held up the arrow and the target triumphantly. If it is conceivable, the crowd broke out into louder and heartier cheers. The minstrels began a celebratory tune and soon Elves were up and dancing.

 

As soon as the dancing commenced, Elladan and Elrohir quickly made their way to where Glorfindel had disappeared to in the crowds. There was now the matter of Galuiel that needed attending to. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 00000
> 
> [1] Line directly from The Fellowship of the Ring, "Many Meetings."  
> [2] The name given to one of the leader of the three Nazgûl, Khamûl who dwelled in Dol Guldur according to a version from “Of the Journey of the Black Riders according to the account that Gandalf gave Frodo,” in Unfinished Tales.  
> [3] I assumed that the male of Thranduilion, son of Thranduil, would hold the same for daughters, thus Thranduiliell, iell meaning daughter.  
> [4] In Lord of the Rings, Fellowship of the Ring, Legolas shoots down a fell beast in darkness using a galadrim longbow. According to "The Lord of The Rings, Weapons and Warfare" by Chris Smith with this longbow Legolas’ arrow could easily sail 400 yards! I have embellished a bit here. Why not? Wood elves are magical! ☺
> 
> A/N: The tale of Beleg Strongbow can be found in _The Silmarillion_ , particularly in chapter 21, “Of Túrin Turambar.” My hats off to all who write prose and poetry as I can so obviously not. I tried my best and came up with the simple prose that Glorfindel so wonderfully sang. He is a most gracious Elf as I know something of his own rendering would be much more refined, poetic and probably nastier!


	20. Revelations

 

**Chapter 20:  Revelations**

 

Luzen was caught up in the excitement of the contest, cheering the feats with bow and arrow she had observed. Forgetting, for a moment, that she had misled Aní regarding her knowledge of Sindarin, she turned to the elf excitedly, “Your warriors’ skills are unbelievable!!”

 

In stride, Aní replied, “Do you know of bows and arrows my lady?”

 

“Oh I do indeed! My peoples bows were much shorter,” she paused, searching her mind for length. “The length of Lotórie if you will, though in my time the rifle and pistol are favored.”

 

“A what?” Aní asked, unfamiliar with the terms Luzen had shared with him.

 

“Hmmm,” Luzen paused, thinking how to describe modern guns. “They are weapons made of metal with a barrel. Down the barrel you pour gunpowder, like in your fireworks. Small metal balls are placed inside the barrel, and when a trigger is pulled an internal explosion propels the metal balls at speeds far faster than an arrow.” She sobered at this last part, remembering her injury.

 

“I see,” Aní replied, remembering her injury as well. “But why fireworks and what is this powder of gun you refer to?”

 

Luzen scratched her head realizing there was a technological gap. While there were fireworks in middle earth these were of a magical make, not of the kind she knew the Eastern peoples possessed. She tried her best nonetheless, “It is a powder mix of charcoal, sulfur, and salt peter,” Luzen explained.

 

Thranduil’s interest had been piqued. “That is a dangerous mix, prone to combustion.”

 

Luzen’s eyes widened, realizing the King was directing his words to her. “Yes, yes, it is my lord. That is why the foreigners put it in their pistols…their, their metal weapons,” she stuttered.

 

“And the combustion occurs inside the metal weapon?”

 

“Yes my lord. The explosion propels what is called a bullet out of a hole, like this” Luzen indicated drawing the simple figure of a pistol using a wet finger on the table.

 

“Fascinating,” Thranduil replied. “I have heard of no such weapon in my time in _Endor._

Luzen sobered, “Then that is a good thing my lord. For while my people use them, they have been used at great costs against us. They are not of our making.”

 

“It is good we do not have those weapons here,” Thranduil replied thoughtfully.

 

“Indeed,” Aní added, now looking upon Araswen with a deeper level of respect, not that he did not hold her in high regards. He simply was not aware of how much the warrior she was. “Tell me more of your bows and arrows,” he asked, curious.

 

Thranduil too was interested to hear Luzen’s description.

 

“Well as I said, guns are favored but they are not the only weapon used. You see, in a battle, in the time it takes to reload a pistol-“

 

“Because you had to introduce more _bullets?”_ Thranduil guessed, pronouncing the strange new word delicately.

 

“Correct my lord. In the time it took the enemy to reload, we could loose up to 20 arrows. But a new pistol that could hold more bullets was created. That was hard to defend against.”

 

Thranduil glanced at his guest, admiring the young woman’s heart. He had heard details of her life through what Mithrandir learned. It saddened him, but not in a way that was pity. No, he felt sad in a way that came from empathy, a shared knowledge of dark times.

 

“See it done!” the crowd started chanting loudly, drowning out any opportunity for continued conversation.

 

Aní described the final challenge for Luzen, making room for Laurenor and Istawen to sit next to Thranduil.

 

The excitement in the atmosphere was palpable. While just minutes ago there was raucous cheering, now the crowds were silent, holding their breath. Legolas let loose his arrow and seconds after the wood elves erupted in cheers of victory. Minstrels picked up a merry tune as his fellow warriors hauled off Legolas, unceremoniously paraded on their shoulders.

 

00000

 

 

 

Galuiel made her way back to the twins, their eyes trailing her.

 

Elrohir spoke first. “You are kin,” his words not a question but a statement.

 

“I am. I am your kin.” She held each twin’s face in her hands. “I see my uncle’s light,” she paused, “my Adar’s light in your eyes.” She gifted them with warm smiles and placed a chaste kiss upon each of them.

 

“So my eyes do not deceive me, Elrohir,” whispered in awe. “You are of the House of Fingolfin.”

 

“I am dearest nephew. A daughter of the old line of Kings, now a memory.” Galuiel’s eyes softened, as she remembered her kin of past ages, now at peace in the Halls of Mandos. “My father, The Valiant, lost to me.”

 

“But why have we not known?” a now furious Elladan reproached those around him, looking for Thranduil.

 

“Hush, child,” Galuiel commanded, her hand held up to his lips. “It was I who asked for this seclusion, but it is not my burden alone. I am a daughter of secret. This is all I have known. My parents wished it this way.”

 

Glorfindel then stood from where Galuiel had taken him to sit, understanding that she wished to have this moment alone with the twins, but he could not bear it.

 

“Or exile?” Glorfindel asked.

 

“You knew?” an equally furious Elrohir cried out.

 

“I did,” Glorfindel answered, his eyes downcast.

 

“How could you!” they cried in unison.

 

“Does Adar know?” Elladan continued.

 

Thranduil approached the group, his voice ringing with authority. “He does not.” He held his hand up to quell any recrimination from the twins. “This was beyond my kingship or Lord Glorfindel to decide. It is a matter for Galuiel and the _Aniåra._ Not even your father has authority over the First Laws. And it was Fingon’s wish. Though," Thranduil paused, “I believe your father has guessed of Galuiel’s existence as little does escape Elrond’s sight."

 

“Indeed,” the lyrical voice of Galuiel replied. “Only Eru dictates the law I am bound to. Look to me Elrohir and Elladan and see me as I am.”

 

Before them stood Galuiel, daughter of the Great Noldo King Fingon. There standing before the sons of Elrond was their kin, who bore a striking resemblance to her father Fingon the Valiant. Fingon had taken a wife, a Green Elf of Ossiriand, Elueth, whose mystery included her desire to be unseen and unnoticed as was the way of her people. She bore him a son and a daughter, Gil-Galad and Galuiel and who were as bright in spirit and daring as their father.  Fingon had loved them as boldly as he lived life, but he feared for them. So he kept them secret, as secret as he could because he knew Morgoth’s eyes and ears cast a wide net.  He sent them to live in the Havens, though Círdan did not openly state Galuiel and Gil-Galad’s parentage.

 

People were not fooled, yet they understood the need for secrecy. Before Círdan could get to know Elueth, she disappeared, taking her youngest, Galuiel, with her. The Falathrim attributed their mysterious departure to the fact that Elu, as she was known, was of the Green Elves of Ossiriand. Gil-Galad, understanding his duty, agreed it was safer for his mother and sister to leave. He knew his fate and he wished none of it for his mother and sister. And Galuiel’s existence disappeared from history for the fate of the Noldor was such a burden that those who knew of Galuiel’s existence spoke nevermore of her, wishing the Fate not ever find Fingon’s youngest.

 

Few knew of their existence in the current Age, and of those Eldar of the First Age that remained in the Third Age only a handful knew that Galuiel and her mother resided in a settlement in the Wood for Galuiel’s mother was _Aniåra_. She wanted nothing to do with the High Elves. Though she loved Fingon, she had little love for the wrath brought by the _Calaquendi_. She had witnessed her beloved's kin brutality.

 

In Doriath, Elueth met Oropher, his wife, and his two sons, Thranduil and Laurenor. In Doriath Elueth and Galuiel were simply one of the Guest Elves, refugees under Thingol and Melian's protection. The families became fast friends, but their bonds were forever joined by what they witnessed in Menegroth. Oropher almost died at the hands of the Naugrim. Then came the Second Kinslaying and Oropher’s wife died defending Nimloth-- Oropher’s cousin--at the hands of Caranthir. Oropher would never forgive or forget. Neither would Elu. Her hate for her beloved’s kin emboldened. Though Maedhros repented and searched for the twin sons of Dior and Nimloth, Elu could never forgive her husband’s sworn brother. And when Maedhros and Maglor took the twin sons of Eärendil and Elwing captive, Elu swore that she would keep her daughter as far away from the influence of the Noldor.

 

Thus when Oropher, Celeborn, and other Sindarin elves decided to leave from under the influence of the Noldor, Elu and many of her people followed abandoning their homes, choosing to keep a distance from those they saw as marked by darkness. Though there was also heartache when she departed for she left her son to the fate of the Noldor, and yet it was her son who blessed her departure; his sacrifice. Indeed, Elu had no love for Galadriel so she chose to follow Oropher and his son Thranduil. Yet her people always chose to live at a distance. Little did it have to do with distrust of Oropher or Thranduil. Elu wanted to protect her daughter, for her parentage to remain secret, away from the mark of darkness.

 

Galuiel had her own ideas. She was after all the daughter of Fingon the Valiant, and in her the same spirit. The Eldest had debated much but even they could not stop the coming tides of change. In the end they agreed that Galuiel must now choose her own path. No longer did their settlements remain secret. They found themselves moving closer and closer to Thranduil’s Keep. Though they were independent they were not foolish enough to jeopardize their lives. Yet there was danger being far from the day-to-day protection Thranduil offered and Elu was gravely injured protecting her settlement as many of the Avari, or Unwilling, as they were called fell, guarding the Woods they had sworn to protect. 

 

Galuiel held the twins as the enormity of a missing piece of history revealed itself to them. Glorfindel approached laying a gentle hand upon his sworn sons. He looked tenderly at Galuiel, remembering the first time he met her, daughter of his Lord’s brother. While Turgon kept his plans hidden, Fingon knew his brother was leaving. Shortly before Turgon departed to the hidden valley of _Tumladen_ , Fingon had visited Turgon in _Vinyamar_ , taking his Elueth and beloved daughter. She was a bright and observant child, causing much mischief.

 

Glorfindel greatly revered Fingon: Fingon who with a host of archers charged Glaurung the Dragon, beating him back to Angband, Morgoth’s iron prison; Fingon who fell to Gothmog. The memory of battle against a Balrog sent a cold shiver through Glorfindel. He shook himself free of the dark thoughts. There would be time for catching up, but not now.

 

“But now is not the time for more questions,” Galuiel declared, “Now is the time for _Rodyn...”_

 

 

00000

 

Legolas was being carried around the clearing by his brother and other warriors paraded amongst the feasting wood elves. He was finally set in the middle of the clearing that was empty of any elves.

 

The elves quieted as a group of ellith surrounded the younger elf, disrobing him leaving him in his tight braies. They quickly undid his braids and put a wreath of elderberries upon his head.

 

Luzen was awestruck by the beauty of the elf. Never had she seen such a bodily form. She noticed that Legolas had strange, beautiful markings running down the center of his back. She recognized the form of the tattoo, but not the markings. Male warriors amongst her People also wore bodily markings. She bore some of these markings herself, those reserved for women.

 

This time Aní did not notice Luzen’s awe for his attention was now focused on the ceremony before him. Dawn was approaching, the time for _Rodyn_ upon them. The _Aniåra_ entered the clearing.

 

Thranduil raised his wooden flagon full of wine, calling out, “ _Ceven dhaer, anno vellas lín enin 'raw he_! Great earth, may you give your strength to this body!”

 

Thranduil poured some of his wine onto the earth, eliciting a cry from the crowd, “ _Taur Laeg_! The Great Green Wood!”

 

Sirrian and Nileth approached Legolas, their hands red with the stain of ochre. A young child followed behind them, holding a pot of the substance. Legolas stood, his beauty, his body, a sacrifice for _Taur Laeg_ , the Green Wood.

 

The gathered elves hushed as Legolas fell to the floor onto his knees, bowing before the Eldest. Gently, Nileth pulled Legolas to his feet, smothering his hands in red. Sirrian traced runes along Legolas’ back with the red ochre, while Nileth traced _Menelvagor_ on his right arm and _Wilwarwin_ , the butterfly constellation, on his left.

 

In the distance a lament was heard, carried by the wind. The lament spoke of those lost, of Shadow, and the coming Darkness. In another corner of the field a different song arose, a lay of promise, of endurance, of hope, interwoven into the lament. And thus, many songs across the field were taken up telling different stories, offering love, praising valor, in reverence of the Eru and the magic of _endor_ woven in a beautiful melodic tapestry.

 

Soon the voices were in unison, singing of the Wood, of their promise to the One, offering their voices to the music of _Ainur_ in praise of creation.

 

It was like nothing she had ever heard. Her hair standing on end, she was swept up in the strange yet magical harmonies of the woodland singers. She saw that one of the singers was Legolas who stood covered in the magic of the stars and the forest. From him his very essence a silver light radiated. It was her pale moon, blooming from the earth itself!

 

0000

 

Luzen was truly tired. The ceremony would continue for days, though she would need to excuse herself. She had briefly fallen asleep against a tree, but awoke feeling cramped.

 

“Would you like me to escort you to your room, my lady?” a gentle voice offered.

 

“I would,” she answered, the first intimate exchange of words between the two.

Aní offered Luzen a hand, helping her stand up.

 

“Oh, my body aches,” Luzen groaned.

 

“How so,” Aní asked not being familiar with mortal aches and pains.

 

“I sat for too long in an awkward position.”

 

“Oh,” Aní replied, “your body tires quickly.”

 

“Yes it does,” Luzen answered.

 

The two walked in silent companionship though Luzen wondered where they were headed as they seemed to be walking in the opposite direction of her room. She said nothing, enjoying the silent companionship of her earthen star.

 

They walked to where the horses were housed, careful not to disturb the slumbering creatures. They leaned against the fences, quietly enjoying the sounds of the coming dawn, the magic of _minuial_.

 

“Aní,” Luzen spoke, breaking their silence, “Your King’s son spoke to me of the Lord Glorfindel’s history- that he died and was reborn.”

 

“Does this surprise you after all you have come to learn?” Aní answered, not quite knowing where Luzen’s thoughts were taking her. For the first time he did not have deep sense of understanding with another. While he had dealings with Men, he never had the opportunity to be close to one. It was strangely invigorating, the mystery of the Second Born.

 

“I have learned much but I continue to lack a deeper understanding,” Luzen replied, biting her lip, unsure how to translate her thoughts. “It is strange. I wonder if this is the Real World or a path to the Real World?” Luzen was looking up at the stars fading as the light of _Anor_ rose.

 

“ _Nahak'us_ ,” Aní whispered as he stared at the fading figures of _Valacirca_ [big dipper/the plough].

 

Luzen’s mouth opened but words did not escape. Her eyes softened as she looked upon her earthen star. Maybe he was the Guiding Star walking on earth showing her the way to the Real World?

 

Aní  continued, “Though our worlds seem distinct, born of different times, we see the same stars. I do not understand what you mean when you say Real World?”

 

Suddenly, Luzen understood that Aní was offering her the road to clarity. “That’s it!” she cried out, startled by the sound of her own voice. Some  grumbling from the horses was the only reply to Luzen’s disturbance of their sleep.  Her voice again a whisper, she offered, “You see while I translate my world to you, you hear it through your own world, your own stories, but they are not the same. We see the same stars but our lives under them, our relationships to them, to the earth are born of different melodies.”

 

She paused, offering Aní an opportunity to ask a question, but he stayed silent. “When I said the Real World, I meant the world where the Beings of Power live. It is a bright, clear world, unlike the Shadow World my people come from. I thought when I came here I was in the Real World. But then I knew not where I was and I did not want to know, such peace I have found here. Yet hearing the tale of the Golden Lord, of his travels and his journey from the land of true light, returning from death—well I can only understand his story from my own sense of creation.”

 

“I think I am understanding you Araswen,” Aní replied, his eyes looking deep into knowledge. “For you Glorfindel is a Being of Power who once dwelt in the Real World and was returned to the Shadow World.”

 

Luzen nodded, agreeing with Aní’s interpretation.

 

“And yes, Lord Glorfindel is something of a Being of Power in our world coming from the Undying Lands, the place the Powers dwell as do some of our kind. Yet while similar in metaphor our universes are populated by different beings all together.” With this statement, Aní took Luzen’s hand in his. “You are not from _endor_. You are not of my time.”

 

Luzen looked into the eyes of her earthen star, his gaze comforting and inquisitive. “I cannot even begin to understand how this is. It is stranger that I have acquired knowledge that is not mine to have in the Shadow World. I carry knowledge that only _Libayé_ [men of medicine] possess. Yet I carry that knowledge now and it does not feel wrong or dark.” Pausing, she felt the warmth of Aní’s hand around hers. It felt right. She drew strength from his presence.

 

“It is as if I was caught in a chiasm, the place where the Shadow and Real World collide. I must decide how to remain Luzen. This as much I know.”

 

“And I will help you my Araswen…Luzen,” Aní offered, his voice more tender and intimate.

 

It was not lost on Luzen that her earthen star referred to her as his and for the first time by her name. A deep blush began to creep onto her cheeks. She examined her hand that was gently encircled by Aní’s strong and calloused hand. While holding his hand had been comforting, now a fire kindled where their hands met.

 

Aní felt the heat ignited between them, though he was not quick to blush as Araswen. “My deer maiden,” his deeply melodic voice now enticing, “tell me what do you see here.” He gently placed  her hand upon his chest and with the other hand gingerly pulled her face to look up towards him. She was delicate and small, it seemed, compared to him.

 

She looked up at the elf before her, tall and strong, unlike any men she knew from her world. Shyly, she offered, “I see an earthen star, bright and bold. You are as tall as the trees, strong of body, yet fierce in form. Your hair long as is the custom of our men, braided.” For the first time she ran her fingers through an Elf’s hair feeling the thick, silken darkness pool and slip through her hands.

 

“You are in some ways like my people and so unlike the strangers that have come to our lands. Your skin, like honey; yet some of your people have skin as white as snow, hair the color of silver. Here,” she placed her hand on Aní ‘s cheekbone, “your face is like mine, steep hills rolling into the depths of your eyes. Your eyes reflect the stars and yet, yet they are so deep I feel if I look too long upon them I will get lost in them. Never have I seen eyes so old.” Luzen paused, realization dawning on her. That was it! Every time she tried to look into the eyes of the Leaf People she had to look away from what seemed the immensity of Time gazing back.  “But yet,” she continued, “your eyes are old and young at once. This I do not understand.”

 

“Because I am accounted as young for my kind, but have lived longer than any of your kin,” Aní offered, seeing his answer did not satisfy Araswen. “Shall I tell you how I see you?”

 

“No!” Luzen suddenly backed away, untangling herself from Aní. “No!” she cried out her back pressed against the fence, a wild look in her eyes.

 

Aní did not move towards Araswen. He lowered his eyes towards her startled form. “Pray tell me Luzen I do not know how I have offended you? I merely wished to share the beauty I see in front of me.”

 

Luzen heard and felt his honesty, but she also carried the shame and torment endured at the hands of the Strangers, all of them: the Espanyols, the Anglohs, and the many other people who came to her Peoples’ lands uninvited. She understood their tongues enough to know she was a Beast in their eyes. She had witnessed how they took her People, the women and abused and violated them, calling them dogs, belittling their darkness, their very essence. She remembered the men of black cloth who came with the Strangers to teach that her People’s knowledge was witchery and savage. They had not the manners to sit down and listen to her People’s stories of Creation. Her people had politely listened to their stories and acknowledged their truth for the Strangers but they were unwilling to do the same.

 

For the first time since she had crossed to the Leaf People’s lands she started crying, a deep release that opened up the sorrows she had bottled up. Aní enclosed her in his warmth, whispering magic words of comfort. It all came out. Her fear. Her shame. Her insecurities. They gushed forth as she told Aní of the Strangers and how they saw her and her People. She cried, pausing many times, Aní offering comfort and encouragement.

 

She tried catching her breath, her weeping so overwhelming.

 

“Quiet now,” Aní persuaded, “be comforted. You have freed yourself of a burden you did not know you carried. May I lighten it more my lady?”

 

Her face was buried in his chest. She could hear the reassuring tenor of his voice reverberate against her cheeks, his hand gently rubbing her back, providing her peace. She nodded, answering meekly, “yes.”

 

“I see beauty Luzen, my Araswen. I see a small delicate flower, skin kissed by the sun, eyes as deep and noble as the _aras._  I see a face shaped by a landscape of mountains and valleys, your lips radiant and soft, the color of _Seregon_ , the blood stone flower.” Aní traced his fingers along the fullness of her lips, feeling the quick intake of Araswen’s breath. With his other hand he held up her hand studying it closely. “Your hands, so small yet so strong and worn, worn much for someone who has lived so few years.  And your hair, black as the night, thick and inviting.”

 

Luzen was mesmerized, intoxicated by Aní, a task he was no stranger to. But on this morning it was not a simple carnal game. On this morning he spoke the words as if it was the first time he was speaking such words to a maiden. He smiled down at the delicate woman caught up in his embrace. “Do you know that amongst my people one of the things a person can possess that most catches our interest are long locks? No you did not? Well my lady, you possess a most wondrous gift. Never have I seen hair so black and silken it runs like water through my fingers.”

 

Aní had both hands buried in her hair. He endeavored to tread carefully. Araswen was trembling, not from fear, but passion, a passion created by his fire and desire. He felt her heart beating wildly in her chest. He craved for more. He pulled her close against him, the intense fire of the First Born becoming unwieldy. He hungrily claimed her mouth, picking up her form so her lips met his.

 

Luzen did not pull back. She was lost in a tempest of fire. Her earthen star was burning, pulling her into his orbit. Never had she experienced such desire. She explored Aní’s brilliance, the feel of his soft lips upon hers, how he claimed them. He encircled her with his strong arms, his broad shoulders sure in carrying the burden of her weight.

 

Behind them a noise startled the lovers. Aní quickly pulled away, settling Araswen on the ground as he looked to see who was there.

 

Luzen quickly turned to see who had caught them in such a compromising position.

 

Cochinay, yellow thunder, let out a whinny, pawing the grass beneath him, tossing his head, eyes narrowed.

 

“Scoundrel!” Luzen cried out. Her horse companion was eyeing her as if she was up to something terrible!

 

“He is protective!” Aní laughed.

 

Cochinay was playfully challenging Aní, though Aní knew there was more to it. “My intentions are honorable my four-legged friend.” With this said, Aní turned to Luzen, speaking directly to her, “And I promise I will not hurt her.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *Elves with tattoos is not such an original idea. In fact our lovely wood elves bear them beautifully across fanfiction. For the sexiest tattooed Legolas read ziggy’s Sons of Thunder.  
> Menelvagor (Sindarin)- constellation of Orion  
> Wilwarwin – constellation could be Cassiopeia.  
> Valacirca -big dipper/the plough  
> Guiding Star- The North Star/Polaris


	21. Chapter 21:  Fire & Shadow

**Chapter 21:  Fire & Shadow**

 

The feasting and ceremony of Rodyn continued for many days, providing Glorfindel, Elrohir, and Elladan the opportunity to visit with Galuiel. She told them as much as she could about her memories of her family. It was strange to have another besides their father and Glorfindel speak of the First Age, though Glorfindel was less likely to speak of those times and Elrond was younger than Galuiel.

 

She described to them in rich detail her memories of her father, his bright face, always gentle, loving, and of the love between her parents. Elladan, curious, asked her if she had memories of Maedhros and Maglor whom fostered Elrond. She did. Of the sons of Fëanor, she was fondest of these eldest brothers. She described loving Maedhros the most. Maedhros and Fingon were close. Between them was love, fealty, and brotherhood, though she recalled Turgon shared no such feelings with any of the sons of Fëanor. And then she was parted from her father, sent by him to the safety of the Havens, never to be held in his arms, never to hear him sing lullabies to her as she fell to sleep in his arms.

 

“I have never heard of Fingon spoken in this way my lady,” Elrohir replied. “It is rare to have such a gift, to see a part of history open to you where before there was only the unknown. Ada said that Maedhros never spoke of Fingon.”

 

“I imagine there was too much sorrow,” Galuiel answered.

 

Elladan added, “Yet we do hear the tales of his valour.”

 

Galuiel then repeated the well known verse--a tale often told of her father--that even the Unwilling, as they were called, were known to tell, for they were fond of Fingolfin, Fingon, Finrod, and Maedhros for they did not look on them as the unwilling; thus for their deeds the Avari called them the Wise returned. Galuiel spoke, her voice filled with a gentle pride: “His valour was as a fire and yet steadfast as the hills of stone; wise he was and skilled in voice and hand; troth and justice he loved and bore good will to all, both Elves and Men, hating Morgoth only; he sought not his own, neither power nor glory, and death was his reward” [1].

 

As the day passed, Elladan and Elrohir settled into comfortable silence, listening to Galuiel and Glorfindel for Glorfindel began to walk amongst memory with Galuiel. Galuiel shared, “He was beautiful, the most beautiful of men that I remember. My heart swells. There was a time I could not speak of him for the pain threatened to fill me until I turned to mist. Such was my sorrow. Though sorrow is a constant mistress I have reconciled with her.”

 

Glorfindel answered, “It seems the ages are the only witnesses to your story my lady.

 

“As for you reborn and returned,” she replied, her eyes bright with tears.

 

Glorfindel knew she wished it had been her father that had returned. She was not the only one. He himself had asked the Valar why he and not some other more valiant Lord was chosen. He had been exiled, crossed the Grinding Ice with the Host of Fingolfin, swore his fealty to Turgon, and fell in Gondolin, like many of his kin. Glorfindel also remembered the simple times in Elvenhome before the Doom, in more innocent times when they would leave the confines of Tirion and hunt as far as the edges of what was allowed them. Fingon had led them to these places, unafraid. He had after all, at times, joined his cousins on their travels across the Lands, though he had little love for the fire of Fëanor.

 

“Tell me about him in that time, in your youth,” Galuiel asked.

 

“Your father was bold, unafraid, and fair. I remember one time I earned the wrath of Fëanor unjustly and he descended on me in a quiet rage. None of the sons dared to cross him, but Fingon stepped between us. He felt responsible for me as the eldest of our group that had joined the Fëanorians. Fëanor grabbed Fingon to move him, but he could not. I remember the moment of recognition in Fëanor’s eyes; this was Fingolfin’s son--Fingolfin the strongest. Fingon steadied himself like a mighty oak, eyes staring into the fire that was Fëanor and he did not turn away.

 

Maedhros came to his father’s side and spoke words to him that I could not hear. Fëanor relaxed, releasing Fingon who remained unmoved. What still makes me shiver to this day is the smile and words that Fëanor offered Fingon.”

 

“What were they?” Galuiel inquired.

 

“Fëanor told Fingon, ‘If only more of our people would stand as you have done Nolofinwion.’ He paused and turned away from Findekáno but then he turned to face us, and smiling Fëanor called out to all of us, ‘All of you never forget the stand of Findekáno the Valiant.’”

 

Galuiel smiled.

 

Glorfindel was now lost in a reverie of a time before he died. “I remember Turgon, who stood a bit taller than Fingon, and even Maedhros, though to hear the tales told you would think Turgon and Maedhros were giants among us. They were simply men.”

 

“Not simply men,” Galuiel replied also overcome by emotion, “they, you, were the best of us.” In that moment Galuiel seemed as one of the Noldor stepped forth from history. Glorfindel dared not look away, but his emotions were bursting. Standing there tall and strong Galuiel was a picture of Aredhel--oh Aredhel --who Glorfindel always felt he failed, the White Lady of the Noldor, sister of Fingon and Turgon. “Do not mistake my words Glorfindel.  They were imperfect, but they were fire and life, far from what the Noldor have faded to. But here, Glorfindel,” she paused looking at the life of the Wood around us is also that fire, that imperfection. Here is life.”

 

Glorfindel lowered his head in reverence to what was for him an almost sacred reminder of something that was part of him, that he had not let even death take. But his purpose now led him on different paths.

 

“So did my father stay there like a tree?” Galuiel asked, her eyes sparkling in delight at the memory of her father facing down Fëanor.

 

“No he did not. Your uncle, Turgon--my lord--he grabbed Findekáno by the shoulders speaking to him, calming him. If it was not for Turgon I do not know if Fingon would have budged.” Glorfindel shook his head. “To hear it told you think those two had little love for one another. Nothing could be furthest from the truth. Turgon and Fingon loved each other fiercely. Fingolfin’s children were loyal, steadfast, and bold in their bonds, in their love to each other and to their father.

 

“What of Anairë?” Galuiel asked of a figure unfamiliar.

 

“They loved her too, but there was a bitterness when she chose to remain in Aman. It was the cause of much sorrow. The children succored their father, surrounded him, were his voices, helped him lead and carried the High Crown of our People with as much fire, valour and pride as Fingolfin.” Glorfindel was overwhelmed by the emotion of his memories. He knew it was not chance that brought him to Thranduil’s Halls, to the Woodland Realm. Providence was at hand. But he had not heard Galuiel speak of her mother, of Elueth. He dared not ask why.

 

And soon, the time came for the end of Rodyn. The elves gathered for a more subdued feast under the light of _Isil_ and the stars of Elbereth Starkindler. It was a simple affair: a roaring fire beckoning all to gather. 

 

Glorfindel stared into the large fire, the glow of his eyes aflame in a strange luminous light. Much had awakened in him. His skin shivered, stretching tight across his body as if his old body was remolding itself, the fire of the balrog, eating him, this time from the inside. A maiden was standing next to him, the fire casting eerie shadows on her face. From the corner of his eye, he could see she was leaning on a walking stick, shifting uncomfortably on one leg.

 

“It is impossible to forget our dead,” the elf maiden spoke, her voice almost lost in the roar of the flames. “What is after all a people who choose to bury tragedy in the annals of time?”

 

Glorfindel cast a searching glance at the maiden. He recognized her face. “I did not know you were here Elueth of the Eldest. It gives me joy to see you whole, though not without pain—and that is sad for me.”

 

She turned to face Glorfindel, strange blue eyes fixed on him. Her dark hair was gathered into two plaits, threads of gold woven into them, bound by delicate clasps of metal. “I took an orc’s arrow to my leg. It is not healing. I am told there is not a healer who can mend it but my own heart.”

 

“And what do the _Aniåra_ say?” Glorfindel asked, returning his gaze to the fire, drawn to the spell it was weaving in the night.

 

“That I must choose _Râd Gwanath_ , the death path, or sail,” Elueth answered her own focus returned to the fire that was sending out tendrils of flame like hands beckoning the elves into its heart. “The fire’s spirit is awakening,” she whispered.

 

Glorfindel nodded, staring into the flames, watching as they coaxed him into a lull. “It is strange. Long have I desired to feel _faer laeg_ [spirit of the wood] but instead I find _faer naur_ [spirit of fire] beckoning me. Not since the Elder days have I felt such a call.”

 

“It is his spirit. He calls to me at times, calls to me to return to my beloved, for he loved him too.” Elueth’s voice was heavy with sorrow.

 

Glorfindel did not look into her eyes. He knew to look into them he would see reflected back the waters of Awakening for Elueth was first born by the waters of Cuiviénen, youngest daughter of Tata and Tatië. In better times the union of Elueth and Fingon was seen as a fortuitous though few knew who she was, the significance of her. There was much secret, much kept hidden from darkness. Galuiel was not the only one of these. Glorfindel turned to look at Elueth, breaking the hold of the fire. “Strange, when I died I heard whispers of a second child, a son that you carried in your womb when you went to Cirdan.” Glorfindel carefully studied the maiden who did not turn away from the fire.

 

“The dead hear those secrets buried deep that we whisper into the night seeking solace,” she replied, a bitter smile marring her fair face.

 

“Indeed they do. Did Fingon know?” Glorfindel dared mention his name.

 

“He did,” she replied now fully facing Glorfindel. “We knew it was a son and he feared for us,” she added her face etched it seemed in permanent sorrow. “I had him there in the Havens, staying as long as I dared.”

 

Glorfindel wanted to turn away as she told him her tale, the grief and pain she bore, like a talisman in the enchanted Wood, calling his moment of death back into being. What it must have cost Fingon to send them away, knowing he would not meet his unborn son. He wanted to curse Fate. Their Doom was cruel.

 

“I could not leave him without giving him my milk, his milk, that which my body made just for him. But in the end I took him with me, for a time, until I could secret him away no more and I sent him to Cirdan as his father wanted.” She clutched a locket she wore on her chest to her heart as she searched Glorfindel’s eyes, knowing that in him, at least, she could find company of sorrow. “I never abandoned him as some have whispered, though most thought Orodreth his father, Ereinion always knew me as his mother and Galuiel as his sister. He knew who his father was. And yet,” she paused looking up at the stars that shone in the night sky, “he was also taken from me. All for your Doom.” She spoke bitterly.

 

“But for the Doom was your love possible and your children made,” Glorfindel replied.

 

“I know this Laurefindel, but I was still full of hope then and I believed that your Valar would forgive,” she paused, knowing that assigning blame was fruitless. “Pay no mind to me, the ramblings of a bitter maiden,” she continued, a weary smile on her face. She stared back to the fire.

 

“You speak of him as if he still speaks to you,” Glorfindel offered, hoping to hear more of the spirit of fire.

 

“Ay,” she answered, tilting her head as if listening for the quiet whispers of _faer naur._ “I dream of him often. He compels me to sail. He always loved him, loved us for the joy we brought Fingon.”

 

Glorfindel smiled. “My Lord, he had no love for Maedhros.”

 

“No indeed he did not and I cannot say that I blame Turgon for his enmity.”

 

“Elrond speaks fondly of Maedhros, though theirs was a strange history,” Glorfindel added, curious what the mention of Elrond would elicit in her.

 

“For a very long time I could not forgive Maglor and Maedhros, the only of Fëanor’s sons I had any love for, but it was something of solace that they did right by Elrond and Elros. At least them, I think I have forgiven.”

 

It was then that Glorfindel made up his mind that he would not return to Imladris without them, without Galuiel and Elueth. It was time. It was time.

 

“I need to sit Laurefindel,” she continued, purposefully using Glorfindel’s name of old. “Help me over to my daughter.”

 

)()()()()(

 

Galuiel sat next to Thranduil, watching her mother’s shadow across the fire speak with Glorfindel.

 

Thranduil watched as well. “The spirits of fire and wood have called us together. It is time for you and your mother to seek Elrond.”

 

Galuiel inclined her head, knowing Thranduil’s words were fashioned in truth. She sighed, her head dropped. “It is indeed. It pains me to see her withering. We will return with Glorfindel and my kinfolk.”

 

Thranduil smiled. “Yes, it is time for you to make acquaintance with those of your ancestor’s house that still remain.” Thranduil watched as Glorfindel led Elueth to them, figures stepped out of the pages of history. In Glorfindel the light of the Two Trees shone brightly in his eyes, the light of the Blessed Realm upon him. Though weak, the magic of Awakening still clung to Elueth, a shimmering cloak of stars and night about her. The light of day, the light of night: one could not exist without the other. Calaquendi, Moriquendi, but these words placed worth on one and disdain upon the other, yet both were Creation, the Song of Ilúvatar.

 

Glorfindel led Elueth to Galuiel who had risen to greet her mother. Galuiel helped her mother sit on seat that had been brought out to her. Thranduil motioned to Glorfindel to take a place next to him. Glorfindel obliged. The two Golden haired elves sat next to one another, one a Sindarin lord, the other a Noldorin Lord, and both aware of that change was swiftly coming to Middle Earth.

 

Thranduil broke the silence between the two. “Galuiel and Elueth will go with you when you depart. I hope this pleases you.”

 

Glorfindel’s eyes lit up. “It does indeed! I had hoped to convince them of the need to come to Imladris, but all for not! It is good news.”

 

Thranduil smiled. “I am glad for it. It is my hope that Elrond can help Elueth. She is beyond what we here can offer her.”

 

Glorfindel hoped that Elrond could offer Elueth healing. It was somewhat selfish, on his part that Elueth become whole and not sail. If she sailed he believed that Galuiel would go with her. This Glorfindel did not want. Not yet.

)()()()()(

Erutunín held Rainiel in his arms as the couple leaned against a large oak, staring at the elves that were delicately dancing upon the glade, the light of the fire, casting their shadows so it seemed that the dancers were partnered by shadows. Aní danced among the revelers, his smile bright, a simple garland of flowers crowning his dark hair. The end of Rodyn was a time for the young to couple, speak words of love and forever after. Rainiel smiled lovingly at her son. He was beautiful. “Look at him my love, is our son not perfect?”

 

Erutunín laughed lightly. “Some might accuse you of seeing your son as a crow mother looks on her children” he playfully accused her. “But then again I am also a crow. He is the handsomest of all the young elves.” Rainiel snuggled more deeply into Erutunín’s arms.

 

Erutunín continued, a more serious look gracing his fair face, “Though I wonder why he has not bonded. Have you known him to be serious with any elf maiden?”

 

Rainiel pursed her lips, searching her memory. “There was that sweet young maiden from the outer settlements that he fancied not long ago, but he has not spoken of her nor have I seen him with her since her family moved nearby.”

 

“No indeed,” Erutunín replied. “But yet, look at him, his light is bright tonight. He looks the happiest I have seen in a long time. “

 

“He does, doesn’t he?” Rainiel answered, but as she watched him it occurred to her that something was changed in him.

 

“Like an earthen star,” Erutunín sighed, watching his son in joy, hoping that his life would also know the greatest of joys.

 

Rainiel caught her breath. What had Erutunín just said?

 

“What is wrong?” Erutunín asked, sensing Rainiel tense.

 

Rainiel replied, “Do you recall that I took ada to see Sirrian and Nilleth?”

 

“I do,” he answered, remembering how worried Rainiel had been for Thranduil’s well being.

 

“Nilleth said to me something then that seemed a warning to my heart and now with the words you have spoken my heart fears her words.”

 

“What did I say?” Erutunín inquired.

 

“Nilleth told me ‘Though we bear them, be heedful of earthen stars my young one for they must take flight.’”

 

Erutunín tried soothing his wife. “My love surely Nilleth’s words are not all warning for do we not our son to take flight, find his love and have his own family?”

 

“I do,” Rainiel replied, “it is just my heart feels a warning.” In truth Nilleth’s words reminded her of the now foreboding words of _Êl a Edhel_ , Star and Elf that told the story of an almost impossible love.

 

 

)()()()()(

 

Legolas was enjoying the evening under the stars. He sat beyond the glade, in a small grove of beech trees. A young maiden was busy weaving flowers and berries into his hair. She was fair to look at: hair of silver, skin pale as fresh fallen snow, tall and strong, a true warrioress of the Wood. She softly sung a melody that told of flowers that bloomed only in the night, under the stars and light of _Isil._ Flowers that awoke with the Firstborn by the waters of Cuiviénen and also refused a Journey to succumb to the light of _Arien._ Legolas eyes were closed, his body heavy with languor, resting against Dineth. She continued humming the Silvan melody as her fingers gently and delicately undertook their task. A moan of contentment escaped Legolas’ lips, a slight smile gracing his handsome face. Slowly he raised his hand and took hold of one of Dineth’s hands, bringing her battle worn hand to his lips, and laying a gentle kiss upon it.

 

A matching smile graced the maiden’s face. She leaned closer to Legolas, placing a kiss on his neck, eliciting a murmur of satisfaction. Legolas turned to capture Dineth in a kiss, in that way only elves can kiss, patient, graceful and ethereal.  What there was amongst the two was only between them and the grove of trees, which offered them a discrete setting to explore the possibilities of forever afters. But it was not to last, that moment of splendor, for now darkness drew swiftly upon them. Legolas instinctively looked to the South. The trees around him recoiled in fear, the grasses swaying in the night breeze stilling, animals scurrying to hide. Briefly Legolas and Dineth clung to each other closer, tighter, only to jump to their feet, their duty to the Wood ever present.

 

 A Fell wind that brokered no movement chilled the night, dimming the fire. At that very moment, Thranduil felt an intense blackness attempt to invade his heart.  He gripped his chest and leaned into Glorfindel.  “Shadow comes,” Thranduil whispered weakly.

 

Glorfindel too felt a darkness try to consume him, but he did not feel it as intensely at Thranduil.  Thranduil was after all tied in with his forest in an intimate manner.  It was as if the limbs of the trees were extensions of Thranduil’s being.  In becoming king of the Silvan Elves a heavy toll had been extracted by the forest upon the Sindarin elf, but Thranduil did not perceive it a burden.  For him it was a gift from the very trees, to feel their living souls bear upon his _fëa_ for in this way he felt as one with his people- a woodland elf.

 

The music died down as the elves gathered listened to the whispers of the trees, the shivering of the branches. Suddenly all went still, and the forest seemed to hold its breath.  A chilly and dark wind swept through the trees, as if whatever evil had arrived let out its own breath.  The elves were chilled to the bone, but not by the coldness of the wind; rather by the foreboding it brought. All looked upon fire that fought against the weight that dimmed it.  Legolas entered the glade.  His weapons at ready: arrows stored in their quiver, bow on his back, and knives carefully sheathed.  Laurenor, Aní and Erutunín followed suit. Laurenor looked to Istawen and saw that in her face she bore the same concern, and with a nod to her husband she ran towards Thranduil’s cave dwelling, to comfort and protect their daughter.

 

“Everyone into the keep!” Thranduil commanded.  As Thranduil called out, a horn sounded in the forest night, bidding all elves to safety.  Elves swiftly but calmly collected their family members and headed into their stronghold.  Galuiel gathered her mother and carried her into the cave. She turned to look at Glorfindel, offering a sorrowful smile, and then she disappeared into the keep under the hill.

 

Without word, elven warriors had assembled in their different units.  Years of experience made the gathering a precise and orderly scene.  No words were exchanged between the warriors and their leaders.  None was needed. Glorfindel noted the efficiency of Mirkwood’s forces.  Already there were elves handing out armor to the assembled warriors.  Fingers with centuries of experience were strapping on the leaf like pieces.  Not a single elf was missing a protective piece of armor.  Mistakes of the past were not ever to be repeated.

 

Thranduil’s forces reminded Glorfindel of the very beings that dwelt in the forest.  Those who took to the forest floor were organized like a wolf pack, small but efficient, with a strong alpha as their lead.  Yet in these wolf packs, the stragglers or those who traveled in the near back of the group were not the weak members of the pack.  True they were smaller than the alpha leader, but their speed and cunning was not to be trifled with.  Their keen vision, strong sense of smell, and swiftness of foot, made them perfect outer defenses for the pack as they circled the rear, always keeping vigilant; but these were not wolves, these were wood elves. And there were the units that took only to the trees in such times.  These, Glorfindel mused, were more akin to flocks of birds that darted in the heights of trees.  They could travel swiftly in a tight flock, and with a single call, spread themselves out in the branches of the trees like wild fire, scattering whatever pattern they had been in.  With another call they could circle in around a target, closing-in in the blink of an eye, like pernicious but deadly birds, Glorfindel noted. Yet all of these warriors and non-warriors alike were swift in the trees and swift on the forest floor, but years of training under a vigilant eye selected those who were especially gifted to make up the ranks of their different units. Glorfindel eyed the warriors that remained encircling the keep.  These Elves were large, strong, and broader of chest.  They certainly could handle a dead-on assault.  Their legs were long, thick thighs like the trunks of trees to hold their ground and charge with impending force if need be like stampeding horses.

 

Much was to be said of Thranduil’s warriors.  So few elves outside of Mirkwood had such a vantage as did Glorfindel this night and impressed he was.  Glorfindel shook his head in disgust.  He had always wanted to take the time to thoroughly inspect Thranduil’s forces in detail, but this was not the way he had hoped it to happen.  These warriors were not as numerous as those of Imladris, but their controlled ferocity and instinct for protecting their home was intimidating. As Glorfindel turned to speak to Thranduil he saw that his sons and daughter surrounded him.  They were listening intently to a messenger who had apparently just arrived.  The elf’s face was pale, his posture showing the wear of what had obviously been a hard ride to the palace.

 

“My King, the band of orcs came upon us unawares.”

 

“How?” Laurenor asked, surprise and frustration apparent in his voice.

 

The messenger’s face was pained, and Glorfindel noted that although his face was clean his clothing was full of what appeared to be orc blood intermingled with what was sadly the blood of elves.

 

“My lord, we felt the Shadow’s breath as you feel it now.  We broke into a defensive formation and sent scouts out to assess where the threat was coming from.  They never returned, and as we were going to seek them out a crushing blackness overcame us.  A fog thick as the smoke a dragon’s breath leaves in its wake enveloped us.  We could see nothing, hear nothing, except the wild beating of our hearts.”

 

Aní gasped, “How is this possible?”

 

“I asked myself that question and hard as I tried, my tongue could not utter a word. My breathing became laboured as I felt a heavy weight descend upon me, and then they came, bearing down upon us.”  The messenger’s face was grim, and his eyes were dim with sorrow.

 

“Yrch,” Thranduil murmured, a fierce intensity shining in his eyes.

 

“Yes my lord,” the messenger’s eyes were stricken with grief.

 

“We have lost many this night,” Legolas whispered as he looked into the warrior’s eyes.

 

“Yes, we have.”

 

Rainiel pressed the weary elf, “Forgive my curtness, but pray tell, were you able to defend yourselves at all?”

 

“Yes, my lady.  Once the orcs descended upon us, the weight of the Black breath was lifted and we were able to defend ourselves, but not before we bore many injuries and losses.  It was a group of thirty, and they inflicted much damage upon us.  Under normal circumstances our group of twelve would have easily routed the foul creatures, but they had the advantage this night.”

 

“And you had no warning, from the units further South of this attack?” Legolas queried.

 

“Nay my lord, not a word.  We found this most startling as it is the direction the accursed creatures came from.  We fear the worst.”

 

Thranduil stood, his head bowed in silent contemplation.  How could he have missed this attack?  He had felt none of it and all so close to his realm.  He knew what evil masked these dull creatures, but he had not expected an attack so bold.

 

Legolas voiced Thranduil’s concerns aloud, “Dol Guldur has released its vileness upon us in a way unseen in the past.” Legolas paused as he looked at Thranduil, and catching his father’s eye, he continued, “And yet I sense that this attack will not quite reach your borders Adar.  The Black Ones yet fear your might.”

 

“I hope you are right Legolas.  I hope you are right,” Thranduil sighed, clearly exhausted from the burden of Shadow that weighed so heavily upon him.

 

Upon finishing his questioning of the messenger, Thranduil made sure all the warriors had been informed of the happenings.  Of how the attacked had been precipitated, of the loss of elven lives.  Units began disappearing into the dark forest, with faces pressed into hard lines.  The remainder of this night was going to be the darkest indeed.

 

Legolas looked at his father, his light armor in place, “I take my leave of you, my lord.”

 

The formality in Legolas’ voice made Thranduil wince.  No longer was his son in front of him.  In his place stood a deadly warrior, ready to defend his home.  Thranduil rationally understood Legolas’ role.  His place was with those who were merging into the night, but despite this Thranduil grabbed Legolas’ hand in his and whispered, “No.”

 

Legolas looked away from his father’s imploring eyes, “Adar, I must.”

 

Thranduil reluctantly let his son’s hand go, “Be safe my son.”

 

“Always, Adar, always.”

 

Elrohir and Elladan had their weapons in place and looked expectantly at Thranduil.

 

“And you two, although I know I cannot bid you stay, be safe, for I could not bear to burden Elrond with any ill news,” Thranduil spoke gently to the two.

 

Elrohir and Elladan bowed to Thranduil. 

 

Glorfindel too had his weapons in place, “Thranduil, you understand my need to go.”

 

Thranduil nodded his head, and silently he thanked Glorfindel for going.  Having the elder warrior accompany his son and the twins lent him some comfort.  “Take care,” Thranduil clasped Glorfindel’s shoulder, “and watch out for them,” Thranduil threw a glance to the backs of the three young Elves who were silently disappearing into the forest.

 

“Be assured that I will guard them with my life,” Glorfindel responded, squeezing Thranduil’s shoulder in turn.  And with that Glorfindel turned and was gone.

 

Glorfindel peered ahead towards Legolas who had swiftly vanished into the trees alone.  _And then there are those who hunt like the lone hawk, pouncing on their prey when no attack is expected.  These I fear the most, and for these I fear for the most,_ he thought to himself. 

 

“Elrohir, Elladan,” Glorfindel whispered, “You make sure you keep close to Legolas.”

 

The two nodded in agreement and soon were off trailing closely behind Legolas.

 

)()()()()(

 

In the meantime Laurenor was organizing warriors to surround the palace, and as Aní was heading out, Laurenor called out to him, “Wait!”

 

Aní turned and saw the look of concern on his uncle’s face, and without needing to ask it, Aní answered his uncle’s question, “I will stay with them if you wish.”

 

“That would bring great comfort to my heart,” Laurenor admitted.

 

Aní searched for his mother before he joined Istawen and Lotórie, finding her readying to mount her horse.  “Naneth,” Aní cried out.

 

Rainiel turned to face her son, her countenance clearly showing the pain she bore at departing from her son and husband.  “Do you go with Legolas,” Rainiel asked, hoping that her son would answer in the negative.

 

“No Naneth, I stay with Istawen and Lotórie.  Laurenor wishes for me to be with them in case…,” Aní’s voice trailed off, unable to speak what was obvious.

 

“This brings peace to my already troubled heart my son,” Rainiel answered, relief clear in her voice.

 

“It is my heart that is troubled, Nana.  Please take care.”

 

“I will take care my son, _u-'osto_ [fear not]!”

 

Aní embraced his mother tightly, and as he released her he looked into her eyes and silently helped her onto her steed.

 

As she galloped into the dark shadows of the forest, a chill ran down Aní’s spine.  He turned to look for his father but could not find him.  Instead he saw Thranduil walking amongst the warriors that were surrounding the cave fortress, dressed in a thick but flexible armor. 

 

“ _Hir nîn_ [my lord], where is my Adar,” Aní asked Thranduil as he neared him.

 

Thranduil sighed, “Your father has accompanied the group of healers and scouts that is going to aid the units that were attacked.”

 

Aní’s eyes widened with fear.  He spoke steadily, but the tightness in his voice betrayed his concern, “How far south will he travel?”

 

Thranduil’s eyes softened as he recognized his grandson’s fear for his father, but he answered him truthfully nonetheless.  A seasoned warrior stood in front of him at this moment, not his grandson.  “Erutunín will go as far south as is possible.  We need to aid those that may have been attacked.  We need to account for all our warriors that are on patrols in the South.”

 

Aní’s face reddened with anger, but his voice did not betray his emotion, “ _Hir nîn_ , that is my role as a warrior.  My Adar is no scout!”

 

Thranduil’s face bore no emotion as he coolly answered his grandson, “You are mistaken Aníralendon.  Erutunín is an expert scout.  Do not forget he spent many seasons in the company of Elrond’s sons and the Dúnedain.  He knows the arts of healing in the wilds like no other.”  Thranduil’s face relaxed into a sympathetic smile, and he whispered so no others could hear, “We live in such times where loved ones must put themselves in harms way.  I for one am glad you are here.”

 

“Ai, Daeradar.  I only wish no one had to risk their lives. I wish that my Naneth and Adar were not warriors, weren’t skilled in arts that are needed in such times, and were simply regular folk that needed protecting.”

 

“I too sometimes wish these things, but ‘tis not our place, and it is best we face our burdens with hearts free of what ifs.”

 

“My King,” Laurenor called to Thranduil, approaching him from where he had stood with a group of warriors.

 

Thranduil turned his head to Laurenor in acknowledgement.  Aní, seeing his grandfather was needed quickly took his leave of Thranduil and headed into the cavernous keep.

 

Thranduil paused to think of his children, his grandchildren.  Rainiel was off riding between units, ascertaining their positions, setting out the pieces like a game of chess.  Although calculating and strategic, Thranduil knew that unlike a game, Rainiel was acutely aware that lives were at stake.  Laurenor was closer at hand, organizing the guard around his stronghold.  And his marriage-son, he was off serving as guard to a group of healers who went to meet up with the injured Elves who had survived the attack.  Thranduil was relieved that Aní had ultimately accepted Laurenor’s request to remain with Istawen and Lotórie.  And Legolas, Thranduil worried for his youngest son.  Darkness was drawn to the brightest of _fëar_ , and Thranduil feared for Legolas for he was a bright star amongst his people, much like Nyére had been.  

 

“ _Ter oiomornie,_ _tulta tuolya_ [Through endless dark, summon forth your strength],” Thranduil whispered an ancient summons for the strength of warriors.     

 

“My Lord, some words for your people?” 

 

Thranduil was taken from his thoughts by Laurenor’s words.  “I will address them shortly,” Thranduil answered in a firm voice.  As Laurenor turned to take his leave of him Thranduil added, his voice full of concern and care, “Laurenor, take great care of yourself.”

 

Laurenor’s voice softened, “I will Adar, and I will ask the same of you.”

 

Father and son embraced, and then Thranduil entered his cavernous palace and addressed his people, sharing words of assurance, and most of all of hope.

 

)()()()(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] From The Lost Road and Other Writings, Quenta Silmarillion


	22. Navaer- Farewell

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This chapter is rated R for graphic violence. Please do not read if graphic violence is not your cup of tea. I do not think it is superfluous violence. The violence depicted here illustrates the brutality of war and the havoc which hate engenders. In my mind, our wood elves were painfully aware of such realities and had to suffer through the onslaught of Shadow.

**Chapter 22:  Navaer- Farewell**

Somewhere deep in the darker parts of the forest, where foul things crept and slithered, lay a life who was gasping for the bit of breath his lungs could hold. The elf opened his eyes and tried to raise his head from the ground, but hard as he try he could not get the muscles in his neck to respond.  Instead, the blood pounded in his head more fiercely, causing his head to ache as if tiny daggers were deeply imbedded in his temples.  Again, the elf tried to move his head and this time he managed to turn his head to one side.  As he rolled his head on the ground, blood began trickling on the dirt beneath him. The injured elf squinted his eyes, trying to scan the earth beside him.  What he beheld caused his stomach to lurch violently.  There beside him lay the bodies of many elven warriors, strewn about, clearly dead.  Some had arrows protruding from their bodies, whilst others limbs had been ripped messily from them. Not only had the attack come upon them suddenly, their aggressors were also cruel and sadistic.

The injured elf peered further into the dense night and caught the eyes of another who was looking his way.  ‘Twas a young elf, who was on his first mission so far south.  The two elves locked eyes, finding some comfort in the fact that they drew breath together.  The injured elf also dared not stare at the younger elf’s injuries for they would bring more tears to his eyes. 

The young elf grasped an object in his hands that he clutched onto dearly, afraid that if he let it go, he would let go of all that he knew.  So tight was his hold on this object that the blood had drained from the young elf’s hand. He was grasping what was left of his life. The young elf managed to whisper words to his fallen captain, “ _ú-aníron, ú-aníron,_ I don’t want (it), I don’t want (it)…”

The other injured elf responded, his voice rasping the words, “Not wanting, do you seek mercy then?”

The young elf mustered more strength to speak, “Ai, mercy indeed. I do not want what is left of this life.”

The injured captain looked at his young warrior, forcing the wind to travel through his throat, “If you seek me to dissuade you from the Halls of Mandos I will not do that. That is your choice alone to bear.”

“My captain,” the young elf smiled weakly, “My life has been given for life. I can seek no better peace.” The young elf gasped sharply, as an intense pain coursed through his body. 

The injured captain wanted to reach out to console the young warrior, but he found his limbs did not respond.  They lay limp at his side, as if rooted to the earth.

The young warrior gifted his captain with a sorrowful smile, “ _Navaer,_ farewell, my good captain.  I have given of this life all that I can to _endor_ and our people, and now I seek to walk in the Halls of Mandos.” 

“Go well my young warrior.  May Elbereth shine a bright path for you. Your life may come to an end on these lands, but your path looms always onward. Until the end of the world…”

And with these words the young warrior relaxed his grip and let out his last breath, turning his eyes towards the stars that seemed to have mercifully appeared above them.

The injured captain turned to look at the object that fell from his warrior’s hand, and upon seeing it fall on the earth, unfettered tears streamed down his face. Seeing it laying there, bloody and lifeless, the captain could not help but relive the last moments he and his warrior had lived together in defense of their beloved forest home.

**Flashback**

The young warrior caught the ferocity of the orc’s punishment swiftly across his leg. The orc mercilessly swung his crude sword with such force that the blade sliced into the elf’s thigh, causing him to collapse. As he fell, young Linwe caught a glimpse of an orc that was going to burry it’s sword in his captain’s back. From centuries of practice, an arrow flew truly from Linwe’s bow and imbedded itself squarely between the eyes of the creature.

The elven captain, whirled around, only to find the orc that would have swiftly ended his life, lying behind him, but what truly caught his attention was the young warrior who was dragging his injured leg beside him, fighting the orcs that descended upon him. It was as if these foul creatures wanted to drive him into the ground.

The elven captain had never witnessed such a gruesome battle.  Orcs were foul creatures but what they did this night was completely devoid of respect for life.  Around him elves cried out as orcs overpowered them and proceeded to viciously rip their limbs from their bodies.  As if it was not cruel enough to inflict such malice, the offending orcs would toss whatever they had ripped into the injured elf’s body, leaving the elf to die a slow but certain death. 

The captain ran to aid the young warrior named Linwe.  He would not allow them to pummel him into the ground, even if it cost him his life.  After all, his own life, the captain understood, was already spent on this eve. The elven captain managed to run over to Linwe’s side, despite his many injuries, and with ferocity akin to a tempest inflicting her terrible wrath, the captain poured out his own fury upon the offending orcs.

The young warrior, witnessing his captain’s bravery conjured an unexpected strength and rose to stand and fight next to his captain.  They stood, back to back, hacking and blocking any black thing that came their way.  Around them elves were falling, and the sounds of their anguish were slowly fading, until the two elves heard no elven voice cry out.  They were the last elves standing.

“We die this night, my captain!”

“Then let us die on our feet Linwe, together!”

The two warriors leaned against each other as they bore the brunt of orc blows, but the orc blows died down, and the two elves realized that most of the orcs were gone.  A small group of orcs remained and they looked upon the tired and injured elves with perverse delight. The orcs spoke not a word, but it seemed they needed none as they were agreed upon their vile course of action.

Suddenly the orcs sprang upon the elves, and began forcing them apart. One large orc separated Linwe from his captain and with one swift movement, the orc grabbed Linwe and tossed him across the small field the battle had taken place on. Linwe landed hard on the ground. As he struggled to regain his feet, Linwe realized that not only was his leg injured, he had incurred a deep sword wound on his side and it was bleeding profusely.

The elven captain looked in horror as his young warrior was thrown. He tried to run to aid Linwe, but was caught in the sword of an orc.  The captain looked into the gleaming eyes of his attacker, and the orc’s eyes danced with rapture as he pushed and turned the blade in the elf’s stomach. The orc then pushed the captain’s body from his crude sword, and as the elf stumbled backwards a sharp pain seared in his back and ripped through his shoulder.  As he was stumbling back, he looked down and saw an arrow protruding. He had been shot from the back with such force that the arrow made its way through his shoulder. 

Linwe looked on in dismay as the orcs played with his captain’s life. They were laughing, toying with the elf that refused to fall.  Linwe mustered what remained of his strength and raised his bow.  An arrow flew from the fallen Linwe and hit the orc who was firing arrows into his captain, but the shot was not strong enough to render the creature dead.  The enraged creature walked over to Linwe and raised his dark sword high overhead and swung down with a force that cleanly severed the elf’s shooting arm. Linwe fell backwards from his kneeling position, and with a dull thud felt the earth meet him. Linwe looked up at the orc, his eyes wide with shock.

The orc took the severed arm and threw it at the young elf, “A wood elf you ain’t no more.” The orc laughed ravenously and his companions joined him.

Another orc grumbled, “Leave that one here to die. Let that other one watch.” The orc then turned to the elven captain, “So you wanted to die together. Sorry to disappoint you pretty one. You we leave to live and watch this young one die.” The orcs howled out in perverse pleasure and trotted off into the night, leaving their devastation behind.

Linwe looked numbly at the limb that had been dumped on his body.  Blood was spilling from his wound at an alarming rate. He could barely hear his captain’s words.

“Linwe, you bleed profusely.  You must do something to try to stop the bleeding or you will surely die,” the elven captain cried out, desperation clinging to his voice.

Linwe looked up slowly to his captain, and back to the limb on his body. Linwe used one of his leather belts to tighten around the gaping wound in the manner of a tourniquet.  Being utterly spent, Linwe fell onto his back once more and stared up into the starless night sky, clutching the arm he had lost to his chest.  He held onto it tightly, as if afraid that if he lost it, he would loose his path on the way to death. 

The elven captain too lay on the ground, the arrows in his body now a numb pain, and as he looked up into the night skies, he found no stars to comfort him. Soon he was lost in his own delirium, and wondered if he was ever to open his eyes again and witness the silver of Elbereth.

**End Flashback**

The Elven captain remembered some of the last words he shared with his young warrior, _“Then let us die on our feet Linwe- together!”_

“I die on my back,” the captain whispered hoarsely, “and I die alone. All my warriors gone before me- what a cruel fate.  May they find peace in death for their passing to Mandos was not as it should have been, so cruel.”

The captain grew silent, and as the silence of the forest filled his thoughts, images of those he loved danced before him.

“Valar hear me,” the lone captain pleaded, “let her find happiness. Let her know the kind of love I held in my heart but dared not whisper in her ears.  Let her see the light of your lands.”

The captain looked unto the stars and closed his eyes, images of his love burning brightly in his heart, comforting his visions.

)()()()()(

As Legolas rushed through the treetops, tears were flowing from his eyes and trailing into the forest night.  Each tree he touched feverishly whispered of lost lives, of terrible pain, and as he traveled further and further south, the voices of the trees grew more despondent. Though he mourned, his senses were sharp, attuned to all that flew by him, and as he furthered his journey the Blackness of the night grew more dense and sinister.  Legolas could hear the Shadow’s breath laughing as it rustled the leaves of the forest.

His pace grew tenfold, and to those who followed him, it seemed that Legolas was indeed flying though the trees.  Elladan and Elrohir followed some distance behind.  Legolas was not within their visual range but thankfully the trees seemed to open up the path their beloved wood elf had taken. They too wanted Legolas to be safe.

Glorfindel noted, somewhat wearily that when he and Elrond’s sons departed after Legolas, they had not replenished their supplies, but Glorfindel trusted that Legolas knew what he did.  It was obvious that the well traveled Elladan and Elrohir trusted to follow the wood elf as they were, leaving Glorfindel little choice but to follow as he was. Glorfindel positioned himself between the twins and Legolas, but even he had trouble keeping up with Legolas’ feverish pace.  He noted that Legolas was taking a round about trail headed in a steady southerly direction.  Legolas’ path would not take them through the Mirkwood Mountains, but East in the direction of Rhosgobel.  This probably had something to do with the messenger birds that frequented the wood elf and perched on his shoulder to chirp what information they had gathered.

Legolas tread this path to avoid the encroaching Black Breath that slowly made its way in a northeasterly direction.  Rhosgobel was fifty leagues from Thranduil’s palace in the hill, and they covered close to this distance in record time.  In ten hours they had covered thirty leagues.

Elladan was now running swiftly besides Glorfindel, and as if reading the Balrog Slayers mind, Elladan whispered, “It appears Legolas aims to circle around the Shadow that threatens Thranduil’s kingdom.”

Glorfindel replied, his voice un-winded from the pressing pace they kept up, “I sense the same.” But what Glorfindel did not speak aloud was his worry that the Shadow was allowing Legolas and his companions to circle around it unharmed, unchallenged.  “There is a reason for this madness,” Glorfindel murmured to the trees. Elladan caught his words but did not answer, his mouth set in a grim line as he pursued his sworn brother through the trees of Mirkwood. 

Fifteen leagues west of Rhosgobel, their trail again plunged South, and their pace slowed to a crawl as they approached the Old Forest Road.  It appeared that not many had taken the road of late. Legolas was not surprised as the trail was now a dangerous path, but the trees spoke of hidden walkers whom had passed with their consent.

The trees spoke of the elven companies that had crossed to the South. Not many crossed the old road at this point so far east, but the trees whispered their presence nonetheless. Legolas’ mind was formulating the numbers of units that were currently on dispatch in the South. A bird arrived to bid his lord tidings and landed lightly on Legolas’ shoulder.  It chirped and whistled softly into the wood elf’s ear. Legolas listened intently and nodded his head on occasion. Legolas spoke a few phrases in Silvan and the bird was off again, flying northeasterly on his appointed task.

Elladan could not contain the slight smile that dared illuminate his face as he turned to talk to Glorfindel, “You may have slain a Balrog, but you dear Lord of the House of the Golden Flower cannot claim that birds whisper tidings in your ears.”

Glorfindel’s grim face broke into a smile as he looked towards Thranduil’s son, “Nay, little birds do not whisper in my ear.  Tell me Elrondion, have you learned this bit of wood magic for yourself?”

Elrohir interrupted the conversation, adding his own observations, “Ay, have we tried, but I am afraid it is something innate in a wood Elf.”

“No, the birds simply do not trust any Noldo.”

Glorfindel cocked his eyebrow and looked at the one who uttered the slight. Legolas too wore a slight smile, although his eyes betrayed his dread.

Elrohir and Elladan stifled a small laugh, gently placing a hand on Legolas back in a show of both solidarity and affection.  With that the three were off again, gliding softly along the forest floor. Legolas would not risk them to fly through the branches of the trees in these parts. Though quiet, the Imladris Elves were not as accustomed to taking to the trees.  He could not risk a sound, and so they swept silently over the ground.

 

)()()()()(

 

It had been two days since Legolas had departed from Thranduil’s stronghold, and he had stopped only briefly, to eat, drink water, and rest briefly. On this trek Glorfindel had learned more of Silvan ingenuity and craftiness in spite of the encroaching hold of Dol Guldur on Mirkwood.  When Legolas would stop, he would scurry higher into the branches of a tree. As he climbed, the son of Thranduil would murmur some Silvan words to the tree.  Glorfindel could not make out the words, as he was unfamiliar with the little known and used Silvan tongue.  Upon reaching the heights of the tree, the wood elf would close his eyes and press his head against the tree.  An ancient magic was at work, as the tree would reveal a hidden nook in the tree that held skins stored with water, dried berries, and lembas. And in this manner the three travelers fed themselves and satiated their thirst.

As the sun stood high overhead on the second day of the trek, Legolas leapt into a large oak in a small clearing in the dense forest.  He swiftly scaled to the top of the tree whispering words of greeting. As he reached his intended position, Legolas pressed his cheek gently against the tree, and Legolas smiled, as the tree shook with delight.  Too long had the great oak gone without feeling the light of one of her wood elves and in this moment she was delighted that not only was a wood elf gracing her with his presence, the most brilliant light of all graced her on this shadowy afternoon.  The oak gently lowered some branches revealing a tiny nook where the items of sustenance were stored. As Legolas took the proffered items he silently thanked the bearer tree for aiding him in his journey, rewarding the great oak with ancient words of friendship.

“How do others know that this tree no longer bears the water and food they seek,” Glorfindel asked Elladan, his neck arched upward, trying to catch a glimpse of Legolas. 

“The trees let them know,” Elladan answered, offering Glorfindel a shrug, indicating his own wonderment with the craft of their Silvan kin. 

Elrohir added, “Many of these trees that have been untainted by Shadow bear these needed items.  It seems that there is an efficient system in place in how the water skins get refilled and the food replenished, so efficient it simply seems to happen-“

“As if by magic,” Glorfindel replied, letting out an amused grunt.

Legolas landed softly besides the trio and offered them water and food which the other Elves quickly accepted.  Their pace was tiring, even for elves used to scouring the wilds of Middle Earth, and these moments of rest were much needed for soon enough they were running as always South.

 

)()()()()(

 

Elrohir looked up into the darkening sky, trying to make out their position, but the skies above were devoid of the dim light of early rising stars. Nonetheless the capable scout in him allowed him to venture a good approximation, “We have traveled far these past two days, just over one hundred leagues.”

Legolas nodded, “Yes we near the narrow neck of the Southern woods. ‘Tis a dangerous place and as far South as our units scout.”

“The narrowness of those woods is dangerous as it is so close to that accursed hill, yet it provides small companies the ease to assess the goings on does it not?” Glorfindel asked, his tactician’s hat on.

“Yes,” agreed Legolas, “This is the reason units continue to patrol the area.”

The tightness in Legolas’ voice betrayed his concern for his fellow warriors. No word had been received from them and Legolas feared the worst.  If they had been caught unawares as happened to the units stationed further north, they would not have had a chance to escape such an attack as the woods here were darker, turned against what they once had loved in the fair wood Elves. 

Legolas searched the trees in the starless night, approaching and touching the trunks, and then retreating with much sorrow on his face.  “They do not recognize my touch, they shun my words, so foul have they been turned. They ignore the touch of the Firstborn,” Legolas muttered as if to himself.  Legolas then approached an old tree that seemed to be dying and as he placed his hand on it, he felt a chill reverberate through his soul.  The tree seemed to scream in pain as the elf placed his hands on its body, but feeling the soothing _fëa_ of his fair friend, the old tree surrendered to sorrow.  This tree was not turned dark, and because of its plight, Shadow wreaked havoc on its living core. Legolas pressed his forehead against the old tree and began chanting words in the old Silvan tongue.  His hands massaged the tree as if trying to work out the stress of living under such intense Shadow. The tree unburdened his soul and shared the horror of all he had witnessed.  It shared with Legolas the joy of knowing that the Firstborn, although few, still frequented him, but it told Legolas of the pain that he had felt reverberate through his roots.  

Legolas began to cry aloud as he urged the tree to share with him all that he had come to know of his companions.  The grief soon overwhelmed the wood elf and he fell, slumping at the base of the tree, his body shaking in sobs, yet he continued to embrace his wooded friend. The two mourned the loss of life and each in turn drew strength from each other.  Such was the way of the wood elves and such was the way of the forest, one could not be without the other. Legolas slowly tore himself away from the aged tree.  He had not allowed for his senses to open themselves up to the song of elves as he came close to the South.  He did so as a matter of sanity for if he was open to the song of the Firstborn he would also be open to the discordant song of Shadow. The Greenleaf sang a sorrowful melody, allowing the notes to filter in the air, but all that returned to him was vast emptiness in a place where the melody should have returned to him.

The injured captain’s eyes fluttered open as he heard a melancholy voice drift into his dreams.  It was only a dream the captain chided himself.  He closed his eyes hoping that the voice he heard would help him on his journey to Mandos. Again the sweet and sad melody reached his ears and he forced his eyes to open.  It was not in his dreams!  Although faint, the song was alive.  The badly injured elf opened his mouth to answer, but the dryness in his throat impeded his voice to answer.  The captain cursed his situation.  His body refused to pass to death, lingering among the living.  Yet solace had come to him, but he could not answer it. What a cruel fate indeed.

Legolas abruptly stopped the melody and turned his head in a southeasterly direction. “A light glimmers faintly, I feel its weak melody.  Come we must make haste,” Legolas cried out.   The four Elves ran quietly in direction of the faint melody.  All could feel its song, but the notes were fading, and they feared if they tarried it would come to its end.

 

)()()()()(

 

Thranduil thought of Nyére as he looked out into the darkened forest that surrounded his home, the increasing silence creeping its way towards the hill that held in its womb all that was precious.  He looked down at the gold and silver rings that hung from a simple leather necklace, strung around his neck.  He did not need to wear any reminders on his fingers of the bond he had with his wife, but nonetheless he kept the rings close to his heart.  

Nyére had been an enigma, but Thranduil knew more of her and her heart than he dared to admit to himself.  He grasped his chest as he felt a tightness grip him.  His breathing seemed to become an act of will, no longer a natural and unnoticed functioning of the body.  Thranduil became aware of every breath he took in and let out, as if he stopped concentrating on the act of breathing, his lungs would not respond.  How he wanted to take his heart and flee in Westerly directions, take his sorrows over seas that would open up and guide him on the Straight Path. Thranduil choked back the sobs that threatened to spill forth from him.  

He glanced up and saw that the elves that stood guard all seemed to be lost in melancholic reveries of their own.  Thranduil searched for his son and found Laurenor, staring out towards the West, his eyes lost on an unseen voyage. Thranduil shook the sorrow that threatened to consume him and gasped in chilled air around him.  The smell of the green woods filled his being with renewed strength.  Shadow was paralyzing them with the most powerful of weapons, reaching into the depths of their _fëar_ , finding their most guarded sorrows, and unleashing them. 

“Rise now, rise out of the sadness that threatens to paralyze you,” Thranduil commanded, his voice full of a desperate but penetrating force.

Laurenor’s eyes focused and he gasped, feeling as if he had been holding his breath for too long.  The chilled wind traced its path along his cheeks, as if wanting to lull him into a trance once more. 

Thranduil’s voice was again heard, “Breathe in the air of the woods. Let the smell of life course through your veins!”

Instinctually obeying their King, elves all around inhaled sharply catching the scent of their home that the chilled winds could not blight out. 

Laurenor’s eyes were wide with disbelief, “For how long have we been under this spell?”

Thranduil looked towards the sky, the few stars that struggled to shine through the encroaching Shadow, reaching their favorite friend.  “It would seem that half of a mortal hour has passed. This Shadow is treacherous, but this treachery heartens my soul.” Laurenor looked at his father, wondering if the Shadow had caused some sort of temporary insanity. Thranduil rewarded his son’s concerned look with a feral grin, “It seems the Shadow fears facing us with all our vigor intact.  Shadow acts with purpose, and from this purpose we find insight.”

Laurenor, smiled, his father’s adept reasoning true.  The Shadow, or whatever came towards them, was not yet powerful enough to face Thranduil’s might intact, and so it had hoped to waylay the wood elves with witchery, but it was not to be this night.

 

)()()()()(

 

Legolas stopped, the song that drifted towards him took hold of his heart, and for a moment he was not sure he could answer with an open heart. He closed his eyes and allowed the sorrowful colors to seep into his heart, and with eyes closed he felt his way towards the dimming light of one of the Firstborn. Here in Southern directions Legolas walked with the hope of his people holding him forth. “By the grace of Ilúvatar,” Legolas whispered as he walked out into the clearing where a bloody and one-sided battle had been waged.  He opened his eyes and let out a soft cry as his eyes took in the despair and extinguished melodies.

 

Glorfindel cast his eyes downward, memories of past pains colliding with the images he saw in front of him. Elladan and Elrohir’s faces were set in grim lines; the memory of their naneth’s pain at the hands of the accursed soulless ones was ever present.  Too many had suffered innumerable pains and here the foul evil and hate was on display. 

Legolas gathered his will and walked forward amongst the dead, and found the dimmed life that had been calling to him.  He dropped to his knees and picked up the elf’s head, gently in his arms. The fallen elf felt the light touch of his kith and kin and opened his eyes. To his amazement, none other than Legolas looked down on him, with eyes full of love, but not pity. “Legolas,” he whispered hoarsely. Legolas gently laid his fingers on the speaker’s lips, silently asking the elf to speak no more.  “Save your strength, _mellon_ _nîn_ ,” Legolas whispered.  The fallen captain smiled, a strange peace settled upon him. 

Elladan and Elrohir were besides them, tending the many wounds, trying their best to save the song of Ilúvatar from ending for this warrior of the Firstborn. 

Legolas eyes began to tear as he stroked the elf’s face, “ _Mellon_ _nîn_ , stay with me, I know you have the strength…” Legolas’ voice died off as his friend’s eyes glazed over. He looked at the elf that lay in his arms, and urged his dying friend once more, desperation clinging to his voice, “Faelon, please- I could not bear to tell her that you have passed from the paths of this world.” But the eyes Legolas looked upon no longer looked on the paths that bore the living. 

“Elladan, Elrohir!” Legolas cried out. The two elves did not stop from their fevered orchestrations, but it seemed the wounds were too many, and the blood that had been lost was too much.

Elrohir spoke, his voice choking on unshed tears, “It seems there is naught we can do.” Elladan took his brother’s hands in his own and held them tightly. The twin souls looked into each other’s eyes and saw the same grief raging, the same memories, and the same despair. 

Legolas buried his face in the fallen elf’s chest, his sobbing now unchecked, “Faelon, please forgive me, forgive me, forgive me.”

“Life on this middle-earth is cruel, but death, it is wholly unfair,” Glorfindel whispered under his breath and cast his wet gaze up into the skies where the light of Anor was beginning to creep its way out. 

 

)()()()()(

 

In the depths of Thranduil’s stronghold, elves clung to each other, beckoned back from sorrowful dreams by the voice of their King, which echoed within the cave walls. Istawen held her daughter closely.  Too brave was her daughter, too strong she was for one so young, but life in Mirkwood took such a toll on the few young who had been born of late.

 In a dark corner was a forlorn figure, forgotten it seemed in the madness of the moment, huddled.  She did not hear the words of Thranduil, too lost was she in her own sorrows, but she did not need Shadow to bid her to these dark places.  No, she carried her life on her fingernails. 

Aní was directing elves to other parts of the cavernous keep, providing comfort to those too weary of fighting, mothers and fathers and their little ones, injured elves, and others that were safe inside the caves.

Lotórie crawled out of her mother’s arms and wandered towards the forgotten mortal. “Luzen, you should sleep. Maybe you will be gifted with pleasant dreams?” The woman looked towards the brave leaf child, nodding her head in agreement.  Lotórie led her over to a makeshift bed where Luzen lay down.  Lotórie lay besides her and wrapped her little arms around the mortal maiden.  Istawen smiled solemnly. In spite of the fear that filled her little flower, she had the courage of heart to comfort others. 

“Go,” Aní whispered to Istawen. “Go to him. I am with them,” he offered, motioning towards the pair attempting to find sleep amongst fear and the unknown.

“But,” Istawen hesitated. 

“You are a warrior, yes, and a mother, but you are also a wife. Do not fret for you do not go to battle. You only go to comfort your heart. I do not feel the Shadow will come for us here at this moment.”

“Thank you,” Istawen hesitated, seeking consent—in her mind—to seek out her husband. She breathed more deeply allowing her senses free roam. “The Shadow is a threat, but I fear it follows different paths.”

Aní nodded gravely. He too understood that the Shadow was deceptive, laying a trap. Istawen left the smaller caves in search for Laurenor. Aní glanced at Luzen. He saw her searching him with her dark eyes, the fear on her face visible. She had no way to sense that the threat to them there was retreating.  He walked over to the pair, gently sitting next to Lotórie. He placed his hand gently upon the woman’s brow. “Be at peace Araswen. The darkness will not visit us here.” 

Luzen looked up at Aní becoming lost in the warmth and depths of peace that radiated from him. Though he was young for the Leaf People she recognized that he was much beyond her. She shuttered ever so slightly, catching her breath. She felt Lotórie’s warm, steady breath on her chest. Looking down she saw the elf child was fast asleep, her arm wrapped around her, a hand tucked in Luzen’s hair. Luzen smiled. She remembered her mother telling her how when Luzen was a child she would wrap her small hand in her mother’s hair.

“It made me feel safe,” Luzen whispered, living in the memory.

“What made you feel safe?” Aní asked, not knowing what Araswen spoke of.

“Oh,” Luzen answered, brought out of reverie. “I was thinking of my mother.”

Aní smiled wistfully, the look of sorrow on Luzen’s face was at once devastating and potent. For in this moment he felt the fleeting nature of mortals’ lives and was enveloped by an overwhelming sense of loss. Aní bent down and covered Araswen’s lips with his own. Luzen did not back away, instead letting herself fall into the gentle intimacy shared between her and her earthen star. As the two broke apart, Aní settled on the matt, gathering Luzen and Lotórie in his arms. Warmed and comforted by the embrace of the child and her earthen star, Luzen drifted on the path of dreams that held hidden meanings, potent medicine.

 


	23. Glorfindel and the Greenleaf

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _“When I was young I walked all over this country, east and west, and saw no other people than the Apaches. After many summers I walked again and found another race of people had come to take it. How is it? Why is it that the Apaches wait to die--that they carry their lives on their fingernails? They roam over the hills and plains and want the heavens to fall on them. The Apaches were once a great nation; they are now but few, and because of this they want to die and so carry their lives on their fingernails.”_  
>  \---Cochise of the Chiricahua Apaches

**Chapter 23:  Glorfindel and the Greenleaf**

In her dreams, she made her way out into a garden, breathing in the intoxicating scents of the diverse foliage.  As the moon crept into the sky, Luzen noticed that as some flowers were readying for sleep, others were stretching out their limbs, and unfolding their petals to welcome the night.  She could not help but think about the flowers that bloomed by the light of the moon in her desert… her desert.  The thought slowly unwrapped itself until it possessed her.  As hard as she tried she could not forget the lands that birthed her, the flowers that witnessed her unfolding, the sands that had comforted her journeys.

She let out a heavy sigh, if only she had refused to go to the banquet, and eaten in her chambers as she had accustomed.  If only she had allowed that corner of her mind that held fear to have guided her, but she had been lulled into believing her conscience was safe, removed from the pain of her stories.  It was not so, and she had ventured too far. _I do not have trickster’s strength, his ability to laugh in the face of death. I heeded the place where laughter is born. That is not mine to possess._

She watched as the delicate flowers revealed their beauty to drink in the light of _Isil_.  She sat on the earth, and took some comfort from the life that breathed beneath her.  Her eyes set to the patient task of taking in the beauty unfolding before her. These ways of looking upon the world were being diminished by the onslaught of defeat in her lands and her thoughts wandered to these lands and peoples she had left behind on that fateful winter day. Her heart ached, did they not commune with the natural world?  Did they only intend to possess and dominate the life about them, twist it until it met their needs?  Her people’s ways were at odds with these new settlers. She wondered if ever there was to be a time of peace.  Yes there would be peace, but the costs would be high for her people.  Would they ever be able to look upon the world, the world that had delivered them unto earth, and tell their stories, sing their songs? A pale light caught her attention, and she saw him, shimmering under the light of the moon. He was walking silently through the gardens. He paused and looked up towards _Isil_ , as if drinking in the soft light. 

Legolas knew he was being watched but he paid no mind to the mortal eyes that trailed him. Instead he gathered himself and sat on the grass, content to commune with the life that gathered around him.

She studied him, forgetting the flowers that bloomed around her, and found that he was as intoxicating as the scents that wafted through the air. He looked intensely at some gossamer blossoms that willed themselves to greet their prince with as much gloriousness as they could muster.  She smiled, feeling some semblance of shared knowledge with him, but as she stared at him, it occurred to her that as she had patiently watched the flowers display themselves, he looked but with sight that lacked patience.  He was not forced into the act of patience by the passage of time. 

His vision drank in all that was around him, and he did so as if it were an instinct and not a learned trait.  In this moment, he reminded her of the aged trees she would fall asleep under in her desert mountains, slow, deliberate, precise.  There was no rush in his movements, no need to hurry the moment because life would claim him.  

A shudder ran through her as she began to see this man, no this elf, as the strange being he and his leaf people were.  They were born of stars and trees.  She was born of the earth and to the earth she would return when her spirit tired. 

He turned his eyes towards hers, catching the curious woman’s gaze. “I sense you have a question of me?” he asked through a demure smile.

She brought her eyes away from him, and breathed in deeply, as if struggling to formulate a question that had been plaguing her. “Where are all of your old?  Mithrandir is the only elder I have seen since my awakening here?” Luzen asked, raising her hand towards her eyes and then extending it out towards her surroundings.

It was part of her way of speaking, Legolas noted.  Her words were accompanied by hand gestures.  He quickly deduced she was signing sight.

“And what of your children? I have seen too few and hear not the cry of babes,” the woman continued, finishing her thought by bringing her hand towards her mouth, signing the silence she felt around her. She had known as much, but it was as if she finally understood the meaning of it. 

Legolas eyes studied the hand she raised to silence her lips, _She knows not of the immortality of my kind? This must have been lost or not understood in her dreams._ He stood and approached her, causing her to stand up in anticipation of him. He placed himself next to her, allowing her eyes to fully explore him.

Luzen studied the strange being in front of her.  When she had first awakened, she believed that she had stumbled into a qochata settlement, but her time with the leaf people had shown her differently. There were the ears that were so distinct and shared by all she had come across in this settlement, and there were the other qualities that were more ethereal, non-human.  The light that emanated from their bodies, as if they were small moons, and then there were the eyes.  If anything she had stumbled into a dream. As she looked into this elf’s eyes, she felt a chill rise through her. They were so blue. Never had she looked so closely into eyes that were so different from hers, and yet it was more than the startling blue of the eyes that caused her to tremble.  There was deepness, a gathering of force akin to the thunderstorms that rolled across desert lands.  In his eyes rolled those thunderstorms, waiting to let loose the waters and thunder held in the bellies of clouds.  His eyes were as untamed and unpredictable as those thunderstorms, at one moment glazed over with indifference, and suddenly fraught in fire, only to be dampened by an intense sorrow. She raised her hand to touch him, believing that this being would disappear, like the precious dew that clung to a delicate desert flower.  As the sun unfolds its mighty arms across the earth, the drops of water disappear, leaving the flower thirsting, needing more, so too was her need. 

“Our people do not age, nor do we die,” Legolas finally whispered as he gently took hold of her approaching hand. 

The chill that had enveloped Luzen’s body exploded when his hand took hold of hers, causing her body to shudder.  She withdrew her hand from his grasp, afraid that if she let it linger, she would be singed by the fire of his energy. She mumbled, “He holds the fire that sleeps in clouds,” as she stepped away from Legolas. Her eyes were wide with apprehension, and she crossed her arms against her body, attempting to soothe the shivers that coursed through her. 

Legolas stood still, allowing only his body to rise with the rhythm of his breath. He felt that if he moved, she would run away like a startled deer, and from deep within him he allowed the soothing of his _feä_ to reach out and embrace her. 

Luzen felt a slow warmness reach its way across her body and encircle her in a soothing embrace.  She allowed for her breath to even, and tried to steady the shaking of her body. As the enormity of his reply melted its way into her consciousness, the dreams she had wandered in and came to know in the grayness of sleep, snaked out and slithered their way into every corner of her consciousness. “ _Pamuya_ [water moon],” she exclaimed softly, realization dawning on her.  “I have come to know of your stories in here.” She placed her hand over her heart, “Mithrandir said that you were as eternal as the stars but I did not understand him, but now I think, I am coming closer to that.”

“Yes, Luzen, we do not die, and are sent to the slumber of death only through great injury to our body.” Legolas, in turn, placed his hand on his chest, over his heart, “or the breaking of our heart.  Although immortal, many of my kind, many of those I have loved have been sent to the Halls of Mandos by the weapon of an enemy, for we have known too many wars.” And in his eyes was unleashed a sorrow, so deep, so intense that the deer maiden had to look away.  She was not meant to look upon his eyes, she was not meant to look so closely upon the moon.

“Luzen, I am not so far removed from you.  We are both children of Ilúvatar,” Legolas spoke gently, sensing the young maiden’s awe of him.  He placed his hand gently underneath her chin and guided her eyes to face his once more.

She replied weakly, “But different nonetheless.  Your kind who still walk these lands count the _elenath_ [stars] as kin, do you not?  And my people, we were born from below the earth, in caves we first opened our eyes, to darkness.”

“Yes both these things are true,” he added, his voice sounding like a sad melody. “But let us not linger on such things. I am more interested in sharing stories, and listening to tales that I know not, but will gladly learn.” He looked at the mortal woman, a huge sorrow burdening his eyes, “I want to forget this evening, forget the sorrows that have visited me this fateful night.” He extended his hand out to her, and gently tapped her nose.  This elicited a smile from Luzen, and Legolas quickly took hold of the change in her demeanor, inviting her to sit next to him in the night garden.  A single blue bird flew into the garden and whistled its soft tune, serenading them with its own stories.

The two spent a quiet evening, remembering the stories shared in dreams, spinning new tales, beneath the light of _Isil,_ sharing in dreams a brief reprieve from the pains of the world.

 

)()()()()(

 

“We need to take care of the dead,” Glorfindel gently reminded the three younger elves.

 

Legolas looked up toward the elder elf, still clutching his friend in his arms. His eyes were red from the tears that flowed forth.  “There are too few of us to provide a proper burial,” Legolas answered, his voice hoarse from sorrow.

 

Glorfindel knelt down besides Legolas, placing a gentle hand on Legolas’ cheek, “No we cannot burry them, but we will also not let their bodies be further fouled by dark creatures.”

 

“We shall burn their remains then,” Legolas answered, his voice sounding like a ghost’s whisper.

 

“Yes,” Glorfindel replied, his hands gently extracting the fallen warrior’s body from Legolas’ hold.

 

Elladan and Elrohir stood and held out their hands towards Legolas, who took them and stood upon shaky legs.

 

The four then gathered the bodies in the center of the clearing. Legolas looked at each fallen warrior and offered words that would find their way to the Halls in which they were now embraced with peace. Legolas had taken any belongings he found meaningful, betrothal bands, clasps, and other such items that he could return to families that would want something to hold on to and give closure to their grieving.  As the bodies were arranged with much care and reverence, Legolas put flame to the bodies of his friends. The four watched as the flames rose into the blackened day, a bright light of challenge despite loss that reached the very tops of Dol Guldur.

 

As the fire died down, Legolas broke the silence, “We need to leave. Our presence here has long been announced.”

 

The Shadow was bold so close to the accursed hill, though the presence of the Elven-wise did give the Shadow pause for Glorfindel did not fear the Shadow. The four friends whispered words of farewell and silently turned in Northern directions, taking with them the stories of those who had fallen.

 

)()()()(

 

The four elves had kept up a feverish pace, trying to outrun groups of orcs, which had found their trail.  To Legolas’ dismay, there were too many of them to stand and fight.  His heart boiled as he wanted to reap revenge upon the accursed ones, but he knew better than to risk his companions in such an act of foolishness. 

As dusk descended on the day, the group was able to slow their pace and take a much needed rest, but Legolas would not trust their lives to the ground and so they made their way up a large oak.  As they climbed through the first set of heavily leaved branches, the four came upon an opening. 

Legolas motioned them to stop whispering that he had to retrieve something from further up in the tree.  Legolas disappeared but soon returned with a bundle of what seemed to be thin wooden planks threaded together with rope.   

He gave Glorfindel one end of the bundle and began to unroll it.  It became apparent to the other three that Legolas was setting up a talan in the tall tree and quickly deduced what needed to be done. As the bundle was unrolled Elladan and Elrohir fitted the wood planks together and as each segment was laid out, Glorfindel and Legolas would tie the ends securely so that the wood planks would not come apart 

Soon the makeshift talan was set out, and the floor was seamlessly merged together and sturdy. Legolas quickly flew up the tree again and returned with bedrolls that had been secured to the heights of the trees. As these were laid out the four ate the lembas they had their disposal, and drank their water thirstily.

Legolas stood on the edge of the talan and peered out amongst the branches to the unnervingly clear night.  He had not spoken much.  The pain was too heavy in his heart to allow him to speak. 

Glorfindel spoke to the young elf, his voice tired with sorrow, “Thranduilion, get some rest. I will keep the first watch this evening.” 

Legolas did not turn to speak to the ancient lord, but the words he whispered into the wind were not lost to Glorfindel, “It is in these times that I wish to be counted amongst the Second Born, for I do not know how I can live an eternity with this burden.” 

Something in the whisper of Legolas’ words struck Glorfindel, and he felt his chest threaten to cave in with unshed tears.  He struggled to regain his composure but Elladan had noticed his distress. 

“Glorfindel, is everything well with you?” 

Legolas heard Elladan’s words and turned to look at Glorfindel who was leaning against the strong trunk of the tree that held them in its heights. 

Glorfindel looked up and Legolas let out a soft sigh as he saw the immensity of pain that was reflected back in the moon blue depths of Glorfindel’s eyes. Legolas sat down next to his many times teacher, and placed a comforting hand on his shoulder, his voice trembling with sorrow, “Forgive me Glorfindel. In my selfishness I forgot what your eyes have witnessed, that your memories carry all the sorrow, the loss of our kind.” 

Legolas quietly wept upon Glorfindel’s shoulder, not sure if he cried for his loss, or the burden that Glorfindel carried, to have been present at so many of the tragic moments in history.  In this moment he felt as a mere elf child.

Glorfindel quietly embraced the younger Elf, understanding his pain, but as much as sorrow had walked with him he also had much joy as companion. “Remember Greenleaf that although I have witnessed much sorrow and carry that with me, I too have known the grandest of joys, the greatest gifts of life.” 

Legolas looked up towards Glorfindel, “It is strange, I feel these sorrows overwhelm as they did when I was a mere child.”

“It is the weight of the Shadow Legolas. I feel it to,” Elrohir added, his eyes red from tears that had fallen. 

Elladan quietly nodded his head in agreement. 

Legolas shook his head, as if trying to rid himself of the dark whispers that attempted to render him useless in his fear and sorrow. 

Glorfindel looked let his gaze settle upon each of the younger Elves as he spoke, “’Tis true, the Shadow attempts to weigh us down with our sorrows. Although real, let us not fall to the temptations of darkness.” 

The younger Elves nodded in agreement, breathing somewhat easier now that they had some semblance of control on their emotions. 

“Rest, the three of you,” Glorfindel commanded. “I will take the first watch.”

Hearing the command in Glorfindel’s voice, they did not dispute and lay down upon the mats. So tired they were that they quickly drifted off into sleep, despite the danger that surrounded them. 

Glorfindel looked up to the stars that pierced the blackness of the night, and as if challenging the Shadow, he called out, “Elbereth, Star Kindler, may I rejoice in your light this night.” Glorfindel settled into his watch allowing his senses to reach out into the night.  He gazed over the three sleeping elves, lingering upon each and remembering the many headaches they caused their fathers.  Glorfindel smiled, with his aid of course.  As he looked over Legolas’ sleeping form, he couldn’t help but remember an incident with the Greenleaf.

 

)()()()(

Glorfindel lay on his bed, his head tilted towards the rising glory of Anor that slowly crept into his room.  A breeze scented with the soft tones of nature played with the sheer panels that served as a wall to his bedroom sanctuary. Glorfindel followed Anor’s trail along his bed, watching as the light slowly made its way towards his face.  His room was positioned just so, that he could gaze unto the gloriousness of _minuial_ [morning twilight], the morrowdim which found its end in the lights of the western valley, where the Bruinen flowed. To his east, a large window opened up the majesty of the Misty Mountains, which rose in the distance. 

At dusk, Glorfindel would meditate in his room, gathering in the setting of Anor’s brilliance, as the light seemed to disappear into the womb of the mountain. _Aduial, tindómë_ [evening, twilight], would grace the Firstborn with the first brilliance of the _elenath_ , the stars of Varda.  In these moments Glorfindel would whisper words of greeting to the lady of the stars, “Elbereth, Star Kindler, may I rejoice in your light this night.”

But morning greeted him, and the ancient lord, rejoiced in these small moments of peace, which were gifted for him and all free folk to enjoy.  As the sun filled his room, Glorfindel felt his body energized as the rays of light warmed him.  Glorfindel stretched in a most feline manner, his bare skin drinking in the brightness of the day.  Yet each dawn that he greeted also took him closer to the time when all of his kind would leave these lands, in favor of the land across the sea, and so although glorious, dawn was also a sad mistress for the Firstborn whose time was fading on middle earth. Unfortunately his quiet peace was soon disturbed by a small bundle of energy that had run into Glorfindel’s room and was in the midst of launching itself onto the Eldar’s bed. A loud humph was heard as this bundle of energy landed solidly on Glorfindel. 

“You are awake!” the child cried out, too close to Glorfindel’s ear. 

“Yes I am little nymph,” Glorfindel laughed as he extracted the elfling’s arms from his hair.  “What are you doing here so early?”

“Lord Elrond told me that you like company in the mornings,” the little elfling replied.

“Oh he did,” Glorfindel replied, his voice hinting his annoyance with the Lord of Imladris’s sense of humor. 

From his side, Glorfindel heard a little voice gasp in awe, “Lord Glofinel, its magic!” 

Glorfindel smiled, the little elfling had not yet mastered pronouncing his name. In fact, he wondered why it was that his name was the last to be properly pronounced by little elflings. Glorfindel began to think it had more to do with a certain lore master’s bidding than with the child’s use of the tongue. “It is magic, is it not?” The little elfling enthusiastically nodded his head in agreement and snuggled into Glorfindel’s chest. The beauty of sunrise was captivating, and Glorfindel’s room was a prime location from which to view such a spectacular vision. Glorfindel gazed down with much love at his little companion, endeared by the elfling’s innocent awe of beauty. “Look see how the river seems to dance with the light of Anor,” Glorfindel pointed out to the young eyes. 

The child giggled and clapped his hands with enthusiasm, “Glofinel, the river IS dancing!” The elfling was now standing on the bed, mimicking the dance of sunlight and water. 

“Look Glofinel, I am the river,” the golden-haired little elf child as he jumped and flipped in the air. 

“Careful little Greenleaf, you will hurt yourself,” Glorfindel warned Thranduil’s youngest son.

“Dance with me,” Legolas cried out as he hopped onto the floor, pulling at Glorfindel’s large, strong hand. 

Glorfindel begrudgingly accepted the little hand and pulled himself out of his most comfortable bed. 

“I am the water, and you are the sun,” Legolas giggled as he continued his interpretive dance of river water. 

Glorfindel paused for a moment as he watched the bundle of energy pretend he was water skipping over rocks and flowing rapidly through swift currents. How could he possibly mimic Anor? 

Legolas looked towards his dancing companion and saw the look of confusion on his face. He swore, although adults were supposed to be smarter, sometimes they just could be quite dimwitted. 

“Like this,” Legolas prodded, exhibiting his finest imitation of Arien driving the sun, “now you do it!” 

Glorfindel laughed heartily and began his dance as the sun, and little Legolas spun and leapt around him, weaving his way in and out of the Lord of the Golden Flower’s legs, who had to be watchful that he would not catch the little river that surged around him. 

Glorfindel was so caught up in his dance that he did not notice that he and Legolas had an audience. 

“It seems that Glorfindel is more of a spirit of the wood than he lets on.” 

Glorfindel spun around to find Elrond and Thranduil with huge grins on their faces. 

Thranduil nodded his head in agreement with Elrond’s summation, “Indeed he is, but I never thought him so free.” 

Elrond’s lips trembled with mirth, “This light is quite becoming. Your skin radiates its Vanyarin heritage quite beautifully. 

Glorfindel’s face turned a deep shade of red as he remembered he was not yet clothed. 

“I beg your pardon,” Glorfindel muttered and quickly threw on a pair of leggings that were laid out on a chaise in his room. 

Legolas was now unhappy that his dancing partner had been taken away from him. He marched up to the two interloping Elves and folded his arms with quite a flourish across his chest.

Glorfindel quickly recovered from his embarrassment and decided it was time he participate in the verbal sparring.  “It seems our little Greenleaf has studied you quite closely, Thranduil. If he were wearing robes this moment, I dare say they would whip around as impressively as yours when you are displeased.”

Thranduil threw Glorfindel a pointed look. 

Legolas’ eyes brightened as he caught on to Glorfindel’s dig at his Adar. “I can also do you Lord Elrond!” 

Elrond’s eyebrows furrowed as he questioned the young Elf, “What do you mean, you can ‘do me’ little Thranduilion?” 

Legolas turned to Glorfindel who was now covering his mouth with his hands. “Glofinel taught me all your scary poses.  See here’s one.” Legolas then furrowed his eyebrows together and pursed his lips with his hands upon his hips. 

Glorfindel was now silently laughing behind his hand, and even Thranduil had to admit his son expertly imitated Elrond. “Elrond it seems my son has bested us both with artful imitation.” 

Elrond could not hold his trademark furrowed brow-look and instead he shared a hearty smile with the elfling. “Such indiscretion is amusing in ones so young,” Elrond laughed, as he muffled Legolas’ hair eliciting giggles, but his tone grew quite icy as he addressed Glorfindel, “but it is certainly not so amusing in ones so old.” 

Glorfindel saw Elrond’s death look and knew that if he did not escape soon, he would have to withstand the Noldo’s wrath.  

“I fear I do not wish to relive any wars of wrath at this moment, so I must bid you a quick farewell!” And with that, Glorfindel leapt out of his room. 

As Thranduil, Legolas and Elrond peered to the ground below they saw Glorfindel salute them, and run into the trees below, swiftly disappearing amongst the vegetation. 

Thranduil laughed, “And that my dear Elrond is why I live in a cave.” 

Elrond snorted and cursed the Balrog slayer under his breath, but the corners of his mouth betrayed the smile he was attempting to hide. 

Legolas looked up to his father, “Can I do that to Ada?” 

Thranduil’s face became quite serious, “No you may not.  You could hurt yourself gravely little one.” Thranduil knelt in front of his son, holding his small hands in his, “You must promise you would never do such a thing.” 

Seeing that although Legolas was shaking his head in agreement but glancing at the opening in the room with that look in his eyes, Thranduil tried a different approach.  “When you are grown, you and I can leap together from this very place, but not until you are grown.” 

“Do you promise Adar?” Legolas responded excitedly. 

“I promise my little wood sprite.  Until then you have many things to learn.” 

Legolas reached with his little arms to encircle Thranduil in a hug, and Thranduil in turned picked him up and turned to Elrond, “Now that this crisis has been averted, let us head to that breakfast we originally intended.” 

Elrond shook his head in fatherly understanding, “Let us,” and the two Eldar headed towards Elrond’s study where there was a delicious assortment of pastries and fruits set out on a balcony.  Legolas was peering over his father’s shoulder when he saw Glorfindel waving at him from some low-lying branches.  

Legolas made to wave but Glorfindel shook his head and instead winked at the Greenleaf, and raised his finger to his mouth, indicating he did not want to be found. Legolas responded with a wink and smile of his own, giggling at Glorfindel’s antics. 

Thranduil looked over towards Elrond, “Does he forget I have dwelt amongst the wood elf?” 

Elrond dismissed Glorfindel’s follies with a flourish of his hand, “I do not think he cares what we know and think,” and raising his voice, Elrond added, “and I do hope he clothes himself as there are many impressionable young maidens about.”

 

)()()()(

 

As Glorfindel kept his spirit full of light with pleasant memories, Legolas made journeys of his own, the words spoken earlier taking shape in the paths of his dreams.

 

)()()()()(

 

“It is in these times that I wish to be counted amongst the Second Born, for I do not know how I can live an eternity with this burden,” Legolas spoke to the mortal maiden who sat at his side. 

Luzen looked upon Legolas, fear and confusion evident in her eyes. “Why would you curse yourself in such a way,” she asked of him, clutching her chest as if trying to keep her pain from spilling forth.

Legolas whispered, “We have our own curse, and I grow weary.”

The weight of her mortal body weighed upon her and the young woman tried to stifle a yawn. 

“Forgive me Araswen, I forget your body tires whilst mine lingers in wakefulness,” Legolas added, the irony of his words not lost on either. 

“I am afraid,” the deer maiden spoke, her voice like a child’s who did not wish to meet the monsters of nightmares. 

“Come with me. Maybe then you will not be alone.” He led her from the garden towards his room where he laid her on his bed, and wrapped his arms around her, trying to keep the demons away, the demons that came to take her life. As she lay in his arms her body felt so small, so insignificant next to his.  She closed her eyes, wishing that the nightmares would not come this night, but it was a lie, all that surrounded her was a lie and no one could hear her voice as she cried out in the face of death.  But she hid her voice, not knowing where to begin, not knowing where to start, not knowing how to yell to the winds that carried her.  The ghosts of her past were always present, never really forgotten. And she carried her life on her fingernails. 

The world was unsettled and in that moment he felt the immensity of her fragility, her mortality.  She was like a delicate petal, beautiful and exotic to the eye that would tear with the simplest touch, but he knew this image was misleading. In truth her life, it was a battlefield that had witnessed too much, strewn with wounds that did not heal, ready to fall off the edge and loose itself in blackness. No, he could not cure all that, even if he thirsted for it, like a cruel challenge. He was immortal, time was on his side, but she, she died with every day she lived. 

He wished that he too could know this mortal end, and he wished he could chase the nightmares away.  If only it was that simple, that simple to chase away demons that did not exist, but he could not chase away the demons that haunted her, that haunted him.  Her demons were her own, pulsating with blood, breathing the air, haunting her visions, all too real, born of sorrow. If she were but a child, it would be uncomplicated to wrap his arms around her and soothe her with gentle words and strong arms.  

Luzen opened her eyes, knowing he would be there, and yet she crawled from him, turning away from him, her face wet from the tears that trailed down her cheeks. All that pulsed inside her mind, all the sorrow, all the pain, all the doubts, he knew.  She could not close herself to his probing mind. 

Legolas whispered to her, “Tell me this is all a lie that I know not what I see, what I feel in you.  Tell me that my eyes, that my heart deceives me.”  

“No,” Luzen called out softly, “these ghosts are mine own.  They are my sorrow, they are my joy.  I cannot be anything else.  I was named by the light of a morning sun, and that life is what you have before you, nothing more, no brilliance, simply a woman.” 

“Let me try to have you then without fear, for these moments, that is all I ask. Concede me your soul, for this instant that is but a note in the melody of the world- give this immortal heart that moment.  Let me find what is beautiful, let my eyes grant my own heart its own privilege, the beauty I seek.” Legolas sought to chase away his own ghosts with beauty. But the beauty Legolas sought was momentary, fragile, like a butterfly, and that was all he desired.  Agelessness gifted him the ability to know devastating beauty, a beauty that existed beyond the grasp of too few years of vision.  This fleeting beauty, though, was for his immortal soul a thirsting experience, intoxicating, and all too short-lived. 

She misunderstood him.  He was not aching for the beauty so akin to the leaf people, the lithe shape of a body, the golden hair, or the melodious voice of a minstrel.  All these things could be mundane for an immortal who breathed in these visions for over a millennia, beautiful yes, but not profound in the way of a beauty that dies.  This beauty Legolas hungered to taste was sublime and fleeting, and faded all too quickly for the Eldar. Except for the stars, these were the constants in their lives, the only remnants of the true gloriousness of time, which raged with fires uncontrolled.

“Your immortality grants you a fearlessness I can never posses, let alone imagine, _Pamuya_ [water moon]. Do not ask of me what I cannot grant,” Luzen cried out.

“I do not believe that,” Legolas answered firmly.

“You must,” Luzen pleaded.

“Never.”

How had things come so quickly to this? The resoluteness of Legolas’ voice caused Luzen to tremble.  How had time managed to stir fire and let it burn down upon her so mercilessly. Yet it was there, inside her. Had it always been? She looked at him and the ferocity in her eyes made him catch his breath. These were the moments that drew Legolas.  To his father’s dismay he was his mother’s son, lured by the intensity of strange mortal feelings, fascinated by the fires that erupted from nothingness.  Witnessing these fires, Legolas felt his immortality banal, too gentle, and he wanted to drink the tempestuousness of her mortality. 

Suddenly she froze, and the fire that roared inside her waned, replaced by feelings unknown to Legolas.  Luzen’s eyes bore into him with a newfound sadness. “You look upon me as if I were an object, providing you with an intoxicating moment which you need quenched,” she uttered through tears.  “How dare you,” she whispered downtrodden.  “It is because of difference, because they did not see us as equal children of their god, because we refused to live as them that they have justified our massacre, and now I understand that you would take from me what they have taken from us?” 

“No,” Legolas whispered, “and yes.” He admitted the truth behind her words. “You are mortal kind, and I am immortal. I dare not pretend otherwise. Nor can I profess that I take… ask anything else of you, for that would be an affront to you, to all that you are. Do you not know this?”

Luzen looked at this being in front of her, and grabbed her head with her hands as if trying to hold back all the thoughts that were wildly pouring through her. 

Legolas continued, “It is not my intention to take anything from you, to steal away who you are.  I only wish to share of your uniqueness, taste of your mortality, if only for a brief spell. I cannot be anything other than who **I** am.  My kind we are children of the _ellath_ , born of _Uial_ [twilight]. With the passage of Arien, we fade, and men are born unto this world, Araswen.”

Legolas’ eyes burned with a passion that could only be conceived by immortal kind, deep and constant, secure in its intentions, but brutal in its intensity, fed by the haunting of immortal ghosts.  “All I ask is to taste of the woman whose name was bestowed by the morning sun. All I ask is of you, woman before me, nothing more, nothing less.  I want to taste the intensity of the Second Born, taste the newness, the brilliance of _minuial_ [dawn].” 

“ _Pamuya_ ,” the deer maiden whispered, “How does one understand immortality, after all?” Luzen reached forward and touched his hair, cautiously letting her hands sink into it, “I will never be certain of anything that concerns you _Pamuya_. The only certainty I understand is that I will one day die.”

“Be certain of this,” Legolas breathed, grabbing Luzen’s shoulders, bringing her towards him, to drink in the sweetness of her lips. 

_It is in these times that I wish to be counted amongst the Second Born, for I do not know how I can live an eternity with this burden._

 

 

)()()()(

 


	24. The Black Breath

**Creation Song of Ilúvatar**

 

 

Chapter 24: The Black Breath

 

Lotórie had been gently untangled from between Aní and Luzen’s arms. She now slept deeply in her mother’s arms. In fact many in the caves slept deeply. The struggle against Shadow was mighty, even though the battle was spiritual, it left the elves and one mortal utterly tired.

 

Luzen awoke with a start, startling Aní. She sat up abruptly breathing heavy. Ani sat up next to her but Luzen could not look him in the face. Her face was hot and if she turned to look at him he would know that another had kissed her, even if it was in her dreams. Though truly she did not know if the dream world held such stock in the waking world for the Leaf People as it did for her people. She felt Aní’s gentle, reassuring hand on her back, offering silent support.

 

It unnerved her that Aní knew exactly what was needed to make her feel at ease at any given moment. She had greedily tasted of him, and it had overwhelmed her with joy in spite of the darkness. Now that joy was gone, replaced by shame. But, she could still feel the moon’s kiss upon her lips. She raised her hand to touch her lips, remembering the thunderstorms that tormented her. She felt ill, her stomach uneasy. She loved an earthen star, but she was pulled by the moon!

 

)()()()(

 

The skies overhead had darkened. An ominous Shadow cast its blight upon Thranduil’s realm. It was as if Sauron’s servants had taken ghost shapes and cast their own shadow upon his lands. Thranduil would not have it. He breathed hard with determination, his muscles tensing beneath his armor.  Thoughts ran to his children whom had not returned from where their duty had taken them.  He bowed his head in silent contemplation, reaching out with his _fëa_ , to find that the bonds he shared with his children were still intact.

 

He imagined the fevered yet calculating determination his daughter was most likely taking to her task.  Thranduil then glanced at Laurenor who was quietly walking around and talking to the guards individually, placing comforting hands on shoulders.  He knew, once found, the elves that survived were being attended by Erutunín’s hands- if any survived, Thranduil thought soberly. Inside, Istawen, his marriage daughter, and Aní were comforting those within the cavernous halls with the gentle ways of the Silvan folk. And Legolas, he feared most for his youngest, the most spirited of his children, the most at risk from the pain of Shadow. So much love and passion was held in his child’s heart that Thranduil feared the enemy would swoop in upon this compassion like hawks hunting their prey. 

 

Thranduil was broken out of his reverie by the fast approaching sound of a horse galloping at break neck speed.  From the trees, Rainiel came forth with distress evident on her face. She quickly slowed her mount and leapt off running towards Thranduil.

 

“Something is wrong my lord!”

 

“What is it Rainiel,” Thranduil gasped, his bones were chilled to his very depths.

 

“The Shadow, it is moving quickly, but not towards the halls Adar.  As I was riding towards the different patrols and assessing placement and needs I noted that at first the forest creatures and trees were eerily silent as if afraid to breathe and be discovered by the Shadow, but suddenly the evil mists that encroached upon us, lifted and the forest creatures slowly regained their voice.  The Shadow flees South as if it has been alerted to something,” Rainiel reported, out of breath after her rapid-fire account of the events.

 

As if on cue, the mists that were surrounding the hill which held Thranduil’s halls, lifted and the noise of night creatures was heard once more. Even the trees seemed to shake their branches in relief, but there was something more in the speech of the forest creatures. They seemed to be calling to Thranduil, warning him. In his mind Thranduil heard the voices of the trees rumble, “They have found him! They have found him!”

 

“When did you last receive word from Legolas?” Thranduil questioned, his voice calm, attempting not to betray the depths of his worry.

 

But Rainiel heard the fear in his voice and saw the fear that was captured in her father’s eyes, “Adar, just last night we received word from Legolas carried by the wings of one of our forest friends that he had located the Southern most patrol and all had been lost to Shadow.”

 

Thranduil grasped Rainiel’s shoulder with more strength than usual, “Where is Legolas Rainiel? Where is he?”

 

Rainiel stood speechless. The desperate strength with which her father grasped her shoulder began to become painful.  “Adar,” she finally she managed to whisper.

 

“Forgive me, my daughter,” Thranduil replied, softening his grip on Rainiel’s shoulder and taking her into an embrace.

 

Rainiel ran her hands comfortingly through her father’s hair.  Many winters had come and gone since she had seen her father so affected, tears running down her cheeks. Something evil was coming her brother’s way.

 

)()()()(

 

The four Elves traveled quietly along the forest floor. Glorfindel could not help but be wary, voicing his doubts to his companions: “The Shadow had purpose in letting us pass.  I fear we are slowly being herded into a trap.”

 

“ _Ai_ , I too have had this growing doubt nagging me,” Legolas responded, while looking into the darkness of night that surrounded them.

 

Elladan and Elrohir both wore grim faces, the Shadow also growing in their waking thoughts. It was coming. They all knew it.

 

Glorfindel gasped as he saw a Blackness materialize from the heavy mists in front of him. “Be gone servant of Shadow,” Glorfindel hissed, unsheathing and raised his sword towards the Blackness. What little light was found in the skies that night seemed to find its way and light the mighty Eldar with the radiance of the West.  The Black Shadow seemed to be frightened, falling back from Glorfindel.

 

Legolas let fly an arrow and a piercing screech was heard: the arrow found its target in the Black Shadow.  Elladan and Elrohir had also drawn their swords as the Black mass came swiftly towards them. Glorfindel jumped in front of them and swung at the approaching corpse-like shadow. The sword was met in kind by a blade, blackened by evil craft.  The shadowy figure parried the blow with a strength that knocked Glorfindel to the ground as he swiftly blocked the oncoming blade.

 

“Glorfindel,” Elladan cried out and the twins charged the Black Shadow with an intensity that shone in their eyes as if the stars of Elbereth were set upon their brows [1]. But the Black Shadow let out its breath and a fierce wind pounded them to the ground.  Soon they realized that the Shadow was driving them from Legolas.

 

“Legolas!” Glorfindel shouted desperately. “This malevolence is meant for you!”

 

Legolas had spent the arrows he had in his quiver. The Shadow surrounded him. He managed to unsheathe his long knives, and began to parry the blows of the black sword in a display of desperation. The Shadow was too strong for one Elf to bear alone.

 

From behind him, Legolas heard Glorfindel cry out, “ _Lacho calad, Drego morn!_ Flame light, Flee night!” And Glorfindel’s mighty sword shone forth with such brilliance that indeed it seemed that it had burst into flame and night was rendered into light.  The wretched creature wailed and cowered before the onslaught of the Balrog Slayer and foe of the Nazgul.  Legolas joined in the onslaught swinging his twin knives in a dance of dangerous beauty. Elladan and Elrohir retook their attack from the other side of the foul creature that dared to walk as Man.

 

“You were once a Man, but you are no more than a mere servant, a wretched being who knows not the joys of the moon and the stars.  You will crawl back to your lord,” Glorfindel roared with the wrath of the Firstborn.

 

The Wraith was now wailing and weeping, its demise at the hands of the glorious elf lords, lords of old that were come back to revenge upon the Shadow all the death and pain suffered by the Firstborn.  In a last effort, the Shadowy figure gathered the last bits of evil breath it had left and let fly a dagger that found its mark.  As the dagger was released the Shadow lost the meager hold it had on a bodily form and fled South with the dark winds to the barren hill that held its malice and evil.

 

Glorfindel dropped his sword; the dagger had passed unnoticed by him as the black breath disguised it in darkness.  Elladan and Elrohir placed their swords on the ground, leaning heavily upon them, attempting to capture their breath.

 

“We must not linger,” Glorfindel spoke wearily, “the creatures of Shadow will be back with more thirst for vengeance.  Orcs are close behind us, and who knows what other creatures of darkness hunt us this evening.”

 

Elladan and Elrohir shook their head in agreement and turned to look at Legolas. What met their vision was a sight terrible and black as was the Shadow.  Legolas sat, with his back against a tree, clutching a dagger in his chest. He was trying to hold back the blood that was pouring freely out of the wound.  He looked up towards them, his face pale with death, and as his own breath left his body, Legolas’ body slumped forward.

 

)()()()()()(

 

Luzen was sitting quietly in a corridor in Thranduil’s halls.  She could not be with the rest of them, united in their fear, together as a people.  Her doubts and fears were eating her away.  It seemed she was always being consumed, but now she was being devoured. She pulled a needle of bone from her belt and fingered it absent-mindedly with her fingers, unconsciously attempting to drive away all feeling.  She succeeded and she sat on the cold stone floors feeling numb to everything, including the blood that coursed through her body.  Her body was breathing, but she felt her soul was dead. 

 

She took the needle and began to slowly drive it into the center of her palm, remembering the lonely man’s suffering the bearded men who came to her lands had shown her.  She wanted to feel pain, to find out she lived, and her pain, it was the only thing that was real. The blood trickled down her palm and onto her wrist.  This hurt was real; it was alive. She longed to feel alive, the way she felt when she was first learning to catch the winds on her steed’s back, with the sun warming her face- alive. She longed to hear the laughter of her mother, so loud and bold, the soft chuckles of her father who knew his place next to her mother, his wife, his love.  There was so much love between them yet it had been so hard for them to love and in the end death claimed any love that had been bourn to steal it hungrily for itself.

 

“ _Yes_ ,” Luzen thought to herself, “ _death comes to devour us, to cover us in blackness.  Maybe then, when my eyes close, I will truly feel nothing.”_

 

)()()()(

 

“No, leave her,” Istawen urged Aní, “she is not of mind to keep company with a hall full of what are strangers to her.”

 

“But she does not understand how the Shadow can make one desperate in sorrow, how it snakes its way into our hearts to choke out all hope,” Aní whispered sadly.

 

“She does not, but there is not much that can be done.  The Shadow holds more power over mortals,” Istawen spoke to Aní in a motherly tone.  “I know you would wish to ease the darkness that infiltrates her thoughts, but she alone can fight this battle.”

 

“But this is a foe Luzen has never met!” Aní cried out softly.

 

Istawen placed a gentle hand on his check, “Ai, I fear this is a foe she only knows too well.  If we interfere, do this for her, or simply aid her, we will only cause her to lapse into darker dreams.” Istawen looked towards the passages that Luzen had disappeared into earlier, “She must understand she is truly not alone.”

 

)()()()()()(

“Rainiel, is Adar well?” Laurenor whispered into his sister ‘s ear, coming to stand next to where Rainiel was holding a rather distraught looking Thranduil’s hand.

 

“He fears for our brother,” Rainiel spoke, shivering with the dark threat that was lingering in her mind.

 

Laurenor took his father’s other hand, and grasped it firmly, trying to ease his father’s obvious misgivings.

 

Thranduil responded by grasping their hands in kind more securely, “All we have is hope, and that is better than none at all.”  Thranduil wore a brave face, smiling for his children, remembering he was still their father and they needed him.

 

Rainiel suggested, “Can we not send out scouts to ascertain Legolas’ position, if he is well?”

 

“Or,” Laurenor added, “We can send winged messengers to Erutunín to see if has had word of Legolas.”

 

“I have done that already,” Rainiel interjected, “and Erutunín has had no contact with Legolas, “and our friends of the forest cannot pierce the black veil that has settled over the southern borders of our realm.”

 

“Indeed,” Thranduil spoke, his voice heavy with worry, “we must wait for Legolas and the others well being to be revealed, and we cannot risk loosing other elves.” At this declaration, Thranduil bowed his head, understanding that although he wanted to run and search for his son, he could not risk the lives of himself or any of the others.  _Such a time to be King,_ Thranduil thought to himself.

 

“As you said Adar, we have hope.  Legolas is not alone for the sons of Elrond and Glorfindel are with him.”

 

Thranduil nodded in agreement, silently pleading, _Legolas, come back to me my son…_

 

)()()()(

 

Legolas felt a sharp pain in his chest and reached to feel the dagger impaled in his chest- a blade of dark craft but its magic was weak.  If it were not, he would have been dead- yet was he alive? Legolas felt himself drift off into a grey world where color had somehow become melted into shadow.  He looked at his hands and they seemed to dissolve at the ends as if made of fine sand being blown in the wind.  He clutched at his chest trying to stop the blood that oozed out of him.  Here was the only remnant of color in his world, the crimson of his blood, standing in stark contrast to the greys of his body.

 

He felt the ground weak beneath him-its very foundations were lost in the shimmers of dark light.  The world he entered was like none he had ever seen, shadows ran like water in a swift river, and his body came in and out of itself.  Legolas fought the urge to disintegrate.  His body ached to be blown away into the cold winds that caressed him, tempting him with the painlessness of becoming a void- nothingness.

 

He heard the call of a voice, singing like a siren in a blackened night, calling to him, playing a wicked game, hiding in the corners of his mind. Legolas felt his body fall forward and at the very moment he was going to release his soul and float into the temptress wind another voice sought him from the distance.  At first the voice was coming from afar, but as it called out his name, the urgency in it rang louder and it strangled the siren song that had so tempted him.  Legolas felt strong hands on his face, and though earlier Legolas drifted into a realm of grey, he now found himself being hurled forth towards a world of sharp contrast and pain. Legolas eyes fluttered open as the pain he felt took hold of his body.

 

Hovering above him was the face of Glorfindel who kept calling towards Legolas. “Legolas, stay with us, do not stray!”

 

Elladan had removed the blackened dagger and was now preparing to dress the wound. Elrohir was trying to clean it best he could without removing pressure from it.

 

“I fear that we have made the wound worse by removing the blade,” Elrohir commented, his voice afflicted with uncertainty.

 

“No,” Elladan reassured, if we would have left it in, it would have further poisoned Legolas. “Here Legolas, chew on this if you can,” Elladan urged, “if you cannot let me know and I will help you with it.”

 

Legolas nodded his head and chewed on the strong herb. 

 

Glorfindel noted that it was a common weed found in the wilds that served to slow the blood flow, keeping blood loss from becoming too severe. Glorfindel now sat behind Legolas who was laid out.  Legolas’ head rested on Glorfindel’s lap and the elder elf sang songs to the injured elf, songs of the wood.

 

Elladan was nearly finished grinding up herbs and tree bark into a powder. When finished he mixed part of the powder with a small amount of water creating a paste.  The rest he mixed with the remaining water to give Legolas to drink.  The tree bark safeguarded in the medicine pouches Elladan and Elrohir carried contained thick oil which aided in the blood becoming thick, thus easing the bleeding from the wound. The herbs were a mixture of a potent mineral and plants that also aided in the thickening of the blood at the site of the wound.

 

In merrier and less serious times, the twins would make light of Legolas’ use for the oil found in the tree bark.  Legolas would run the oil through his hair and suck on the bark gifted by the trees. Legolas would playfully joke with the twins that they too could have glorious and lustrous hair if they followed his lead.

 

“Glorfindel, give this to Legolas to drink.  He must swallow a good amount,” Elladan instructed Glorfindel. Glorfindel took the mixture from Elladan and gently propped the water skin to Legolas’ mouth. Although weak, Legolas managed to swallow much of the concoction, but the effort drained him of what little energy he had.  He dropped his head back into Glorfindel’s lap.

 

Elrohir had cleaned the wound as best he could and quickly lifted his hand from it as Elladan applied the paste followed by Elrohir quickly dressing the wound. Elladan continued to apply pressure on the wound, afraid that Legolas would bleed to death. Elrohir’s eyes were wrought with concern, looking towards his mentor, “We must leave as soon as the litter is built.”

 

Glorfindel nodded and gently laid Legolas’ head on the ground and along with Elrohir built a litter in a matter of minutes.  They gently placed Legolas on the litter and wrapped him in tightly. They did not want to risk his falling off. They would be moving at a rapid pace.

 

Legolas was drifting in and out of consciousness, sensing the group move quickly through the densely wooded forest.  “ _Father,”_ Legolas’ mind cried out, _“the pain is too much. It consumes me so!”_

Legolas heard whispers in response, but it was not the voice of his father. Legolas looked towards the tree heights. It seemed that the trees were hunched over and looking over him as he passed them.  He drifted out of consciousness hearing the voices of the trees, “Greenleaf, Greenleaf, hold to the colors of this world! Smell the vibrancy of life oh Greenleaf!”

 

)()()()()(

 

Luzen felt tired, so tired that her very bones seemed to moan.  She found her way to a makeshift bed, tucked away in a small alcove that usually served for storage of chairs and tables, which were presently being used in the great hall. She flopped on the bed unceremoniously and placed her arm over her eyes, trying to block out the soft light that radiated from candles near her.  Soon, her eyes closed of their own accord and she was enveloped in the darkness that is sleep. But as was custom in this strange land, dreams visited her in her slumber, and she awakened into the dream world, the place of visions. She was weightless and seemed to be suspended in a thick blueness like water.  Yes, she realized she was deep in blue water.  She kicked her legs and began to explore the blue depths of her dreams, relishing in the freedom of moving through water. Luzen’s hair floated around her while she floated effortlessly in the depths. She paused; a bright shape was coming toward her.  Luzen felt no fear and waited as a woman as beautiful as day swam up to her and smiled. The woman wore a necklace of shells and she breathed like a fish: her neck opening and closing like the fish in the rivers! Fish woman’s eyes sparkled like the stars in the heavens and her smile was as warm as an elders embrace. Fish woman’s smile was enchanting and as she laughed, the very water seemed to ripple, but no sound was made. She then beckoned for Luzen to follow and soon they were darting in and out of caves on the water bottom, delighting in light-hearted games.  Luzen would try to catch fish woman, but each time she came close enough to touch her, fish woman would disappear in a flash of silver.  For an instant Luzen saw the shape of a fish dart away, but as soon as she regained her focus, fish woman was laughing in front of her, beckoning her to follow.

 

Fish woman then slowed and held her hand out towards Luzen.  In it was the most beautiful necklace Luzen had ever seen, made of bright red coral and ivory colored shells.  Luzen reached out apprehensively to take the necklace and fish woman laughed again as they floated in the turquoise water. Fish woman placed the necklace in Luzen’s hand and gently caressed the young mortal’s cheek. If water could be silken in touch then this was what Luzen felt as the fish woman gifted her with her touch. Luzen held the necklace close to her chest and the two floated smiling and laughing, but then fish woman’s eyes grew wide and fear distorted her beauty. Luzen turned around but could see nothing.  Fish woman frantically motioned for Luzen to leave. Luzen tried to move her arms and legs, but she found she could not move them and her body began to sink towards the darker depths of the waters.  Luzen looked up as fish woman reached out with her hand to grab Luzen, but as she reached out a spear flew through the water and imbedded itself in fish woman’s chest. Luzen opened her mouth to cry out, but she could not scream, her entire body was paralyzed. And fish woman, her beautiful face froze in the paleness of death and the turquoise waters turned red, her blood spilling out like an ominous smoke in the water.  Luzen sank deeper and deeper and all she could see above her was the brightness of the water being darkened by the blood of fish woman. And soon there was no light, only darkness.

 

)()()()()(

 

_This was not supposed to occur_ , Legolas mused, his unconscious ablaze in activity, _I am not ready to leave these lands!_ But the pain that coursed through his body flashed in his mind and soon he was overwhelmed with light.  He felt himself cry out in agony, but his voice was distant, hanging by a thread.  Hands grasped his own, but Legolas could not respond.  His strength had bled out of him and then a shadow crept up to swallow the light. It seemed to Legolas that the shadow took a perverse delight in devouring the light and he felt its sinister laughter as it weighed him down with the solidness of blackness.

 

)()()()()(

 

“His breathing is labored.  It is as I feared, the dagger has probably pierced a lung.” Elrohir’s words stung Glorfindel as if a dagger had impaled him as well.

 

“Say it is not so!” Glorfindel breathed out in dismay.  “We must make haste or Legolas will not wake to another dawn!”

 

Although it seemed luck had long abandoned them, it had found them on their path towards Thranduil’s halls. From a distance the group heard a call that they recognized as a greeting call from a Mirkwood patrol.  Elladan responded in kind, adding a note of urgency. Soon enough, a group of Elves had dropped from the trees and their faces were drawn tight, taking in the sight of their badly wounded Prince.

 

One of the warriors flew forward and knelt by Legolas’ side, crying out, “Legolas!”

 

“When did this happen,” Erutunín asked, his voice trembling with disbelief and fear.

 

“It has been but a few hours,” Elrohir responded, “we have done all that our hands and bodies allow.”

 

Erutunín looked up at Elrohir and Elladan, “For this I am grateful for I know the healing skill that flows from both your hands.  Can we move him?  There are warriors on horses near by which we can summon.”

 

Elladan answered, “It would be best to get him to Thranduil’s halls. We do him no good keeping him here.”

 

“Then let no more be said,” Erutunín replied hastily. “Call Nestadion. We will need him to get the Legolas to the King’s healers.  As for the rest of us, make sure you send word to the remaining riders to come here as quick as their mounts will move,” Erutunín commanded, efficacy and urgency driving his manner.

 

With a nod, Elves took to the trees and they took to their task. Within a short time, a rider was heard approaching the group. Nestadion approached the group, calling out to Erutunín, “My lord,” extending his arms towards Legolas’ prone form.

 

Glorfindel and the others gingerly placed Legolas in front of Nestadion. With Legolas positioned as safely as possible, Nestadion whispered in his stead’s ear and the horse responded by flying as effortlessly as possible through the wood.

 

“Now we wait for the remaining riders to come.  Elladan, Elrohir, if I may be so bold to ask that you ride back once the riders have met us,” Erutunín spoke urgently.

 

“Of course dear friend.  We will not tarry here when our services are needed elsewhere,” Elrohir replied, with Elladan nodding in agreement.

 

)()()()(

 

Thranduil heard the horse and rider approaching and knew that all the doubts that were playing in his mind were now going to take shape, but when the rider came into sight, Thranduil could not believe what his eyes took in, despite what his heart had foreshadowed. “Legolas!” Thranduil whispered hoarsely, tears filling his eyes.

 

Laurenor immediately ordered some of the guard to retrieve some of the healers from where they were attending those injured warriors who had managed to return.  Laurenor ran towards the rider, catching up with his father.  Nestadion approached and he began to tremble with grief and anticipation. He brought his king his son in a state near death, and he brought home a comrade in arms that had been his captain. Nestadion whispered into Legolas’ ear, hoping feverishly that Legolas could hear him, “My lord, I do not doubt your strength and will to survive.  Know this. You have all our love and strength. Do not fear calling on it!”

 

Thranduil was at his side, “Can we move him?  When did this occur? The sons of Elrond and Glorfindel, are they well? Is anyone else hurt?”

 

Nestadion answered his lord, his voice struggling to remain steady, “My lord, Elrond’s sons and Lord Glorfindel are uninjured.  As for Legolas’ injury, no more time has passed than when an _Emlin_ builds her nest.”

 

“Steady, Adar,” Laurenor whispered, his father nearly tripping over his own feet. “Let us wait until the healers bring the litter to move Legolas.  I fear he has already sustained too much jostling.” The steadiness in Laurenor’s voice was no indication of the torrent of anger and fear that were coursing through his body, making his very blood boil, but he needed to be strong, for his father and Legolas.

 

“Yes Laurenor, your words are sound,” Thranduil replied, never letting go of Legolas’ hand while Nestadion sustained Legolas on the horse.

 

As Thranduil held onto his son’s hand, the healers reached their side. Slowly, but steadily, Laurenor and Thranduil brought Legolas down from the horse and placed him on the litter. Carefully, the healers took the litter inside the halls to the healing rooms housed within the hill.

 

“My lord,” Nestadion spoke hastily, attempting to catch Laurenor’s attention.

 

“Yes Nestadion,” Laurenor replied, realizing he was about to leave without waiting to hear Nestadion’s report.

 

“The sons of Elrond will be here shortly.  Riders rode out to meet them shortly after I left with Legolas.”

 

Laurenor’s face expressed understanding, “And Erutunín? How fares he?”

 

“Well… as circumstances allow my lord.  He will be accompanying Lord Glorfindel. They return by foot.”

 

“That is well,” Laurenor replied, dismissing the warrior with a nod of his head.

 

With that Laurenor turned and ran towards his father’s halls to be by his brother’s side.

 

)()()()(

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Parallel to Eärendil who wears the Silmaril “bound upon his brow.” _The Silmarillion_


	25. Chapter 25

**Notes for the Chapter:**

>  _“But there are things which you have said to me which I do not like. They are not sweet like sugar, but bitter like gourds. You said that you wanted to put us upon a reservation, to build us houses and make us medicine lodges. I do not want them. I was born upon the prairie, where the wind blew free and there was nothing to break the light of the sun. I was born where there were no enclosures and where everything drew a free breath. I want to die there and not within walls. I know every stream end every wood between the Rio Grande and the Arkansas. I have hunted and lived over that country. I lived like my fathers before me, and, like them, I lived happily.”_  
>  \--Parra-Wa-Samen (Ten Bears) of the Yamparika Comanches

**Chapter 25: Ghosts**

 

Glorfindel could not tear away the image from his mind, of the mighty King of the Great Wood, kneeling by his son, uttering incantations of old, rendering anew the powers that the Quendi, possessed at the time of Cuiviénen. Thranduil would not remove himself from his son’s side as the sons of Elrond, worked in concert to maintain Legolas’ thread-hold on life, now nestled in the healing halls of Thranduil’s keep.

 

“You did not vanquish me when I faced you, you will not defeat him,” Glorfindel uttered, throwing his voice to be carried with the Southern winds. “Let it be heard upon that accursed hill.  You shall not take him!”

 

Glorfindel thought of Legolas, just before they left on their perilous trek South. “Yes,”Glorfindel pondered, “I will think of you as you are always bright in life.” And the golden-haired Lord recalled a scene that took place during that merry feast…

 

* **flashback** *

 

“It is more about who tells the story than the stories actually being told. If their voice is the only one telling the story, then surely it will be a product of their perception. This is the case with all things,” Legolas informed the young group of elf children that had gathered around him.

 

“Even with the elves,” curious voices asked.

 

“Yes, even with the elves,” Legolas replied thoughtfully.  Seeing that his audience was not content with his brief answer Legolas elaborated, “If you think about history and how it is told, if you are a discerning reader or listener you will understand that history can be a matter of perception.  Certainly an event may have occurred on such a date, but how it is illustrated or depicted depends on who is giving voice to this story. What is of concern then is which stories are represented, and which are the voices that are telling the stories? Does one voice over power another voice?  But for us, we have our immortality to grant us time to learn, interpret, search, and query what knowledge is provided to us.“ Legolas was thinking of the lessons he had learned from Oropher that had been passed on to him by Thranduil. He considered the voices of the Silvan elves that had long maintained what outsiders called a stubborn pride, voices that some historians dismissed as unimportant.

 

“So then how do we know what the truth of things are?” an elf nearing his majority asked Legolas.

 

Legolas touched the tree he leaned against lightly.  “It is all around us, in the trees, in the flowers, and in us. The melody of Ilúvatar is constant and it combines all the voices of _Eä_ to create the story of all.  Not a single note is left out.  All you have to do is let your _feä_ reach out and you will more than hear this wondrous melody, you will feel it.”

 

Lotórie gasped, as did other children who, although older in age than Lotórie were still quite impressionable as they had not had the experience of time to lead them on the path of Elven wisdom.

 

Legolas continued, “Some call us the Moriquendi, elves who have never beheld the light of the two trees, and for this we fail in grace and wisdom as compared to our brethren who have beheld the lights that once graced the Blessed Lands. But this name fell from use upon the exile of the Noldor from Valinor.  Yet there are those who call us unwise and unlearned in the ways of the Elves of light, and so some still count us amongst the Dark Elves. But there are those Sindarin nobles whom survived the fall of Doriath and found solace and comfort in the wise folk of the woodland realms…”

 

“The Silvan Elves!” a chorus of youthful voices cried out.

 

“Yes and one of these was my grandfather Oropher.  In the Silvan he found the virtue and nobility that he felt had been lost upon the return of the exiles to this middle earth.  Though some may call us rustic and simple, indeed ignorant, we all know this is quite a lie, or shall I say misunderstanding.”

 

“Yes, not the truth at all,” many young voices chimed in.

 

“We must also remember that many of these tales although based on the mightiest lore born of Elven tongue have passed through the mouth of men and been distorted by mortal legend that dies with its teller to be reborn through sons and daughters. Mayhap in the past there were grievances between Elven kingdoms that flung these prejudices around, but even then these disagreements were born of great loss and pain that tempered reason.”

 

And now the silent member of Legolas’ mostly youthful audience spoke up, eliciting an awed silence from his audience, “Thranduilion, you speak many truths. Let it be said here that those who were once exiled may have in the past shared such prejudices, but as we elves are gifted with time, we have seen the folly of this.  I stand with the peoples of the woodland realms. The children looked upon the mighty Glorfindel in awe and turned to look upon one another with nods of agreement for after all who could dispute this ancient lord’s wisdom.

 

Legolas, as always was only a step away from mischief. “Lord Glorfindel, you honor us with your words, and now that we have your attention, might I have you share some of your wisdom and opinion concerning our woodcraft, for it is held in the highest regard is it not?” Glorfindel’s eyes twinkled as he looked seriously towards the young prince who always insisted on pushing his luck. Legolas felt his collar tighten around his neck and he pulled at it rather awkwardly, feeling the gaze of Glorfindel upon him, but to his relief, Glorfindel let out a grunt of approval.

 

“‘Tis true little ones no other Elven kingdom can boast the woodcraft of these troubled lands, for in _Tuar_ , the Great Wood, let it be known live the masters of all that concerns trees. And,” Glorfindel added, throwing a warm smile towards Legolas, “your realm can also lay claim to birthing _one_ the greatest archers known in all of Arda!”

 

Voices joined in a unison of oohs and aahs.

 

But Glorfindel’s words of tribute to Thranduil’s great realm did not end there, “And indeed little ones, maybe one of the greatest archer in the history of middle earth stands before you.  Now some may disagree, but many, many an ancient Elf would agree with my opinion.”

 

Legolas blushed, although he was confident in his skill with many a bow and arrow, to hear the mighty Lord of the Golden Flower reap such praise upon him was unheard of.

 

Lotórie’s small voice emerged from the murmurs, “Legolas is the greatest,” she exclaimed, but she added with much regret, “But this is only because we live so near evil that threatens to take our homes away.” Other young Elves nodded in agreement. Though young, the price of youth in Mirkwood came with a mature knowledge concerning the needs of their kingdom and the sacrifices they all had to make. Legolas was silent. He knew too well the Shadow that was always present in these young ones’ lives.  He had traveled and scouted the black lands of Dol Guldur, and the weight of that evil always pressed on his consciousness, no matter where he was.

 

Glorfindel’s face was also saddened and his memories harkened back to the children that were lost in the fall of Gondolin and those that survived those bitter days, with honour but too much sacrifice.  He managed a grim smile, “It is a strange fate that our young have faced sorrows and evils that one would wish away, but we have persevered in the face of much, and no doubt you all here will triumph.” Glorfindel noted sadly that it was unfortunate such new lives had to be so acquainted with dark places, but there was no alternative for although the elves of Mirkwood were gay in spirit and light of heart, the pressing of Shadow was always present. Glorfindel always marveled at the strength and bravery of the Silvan folk and their King, with no ring of power to protect them.  And here in Mirkwood where there were so few young, as was the case in all the elven realms of middle earth, the hope of youth flourished.  He turned to look towards Legolas, proud that Thranduil’s young son so well represented this bright hope.

 

* **End Flashback** *

 

Glorfindel whispered, “Yes Greenleaf, your brightness will not flicker. It will only burn the brighter.” Glorfindel’s thoughts were interrupted by a voice in the wind,the sound of a strange voice laden with sorrow softly singing unknown melodies.  He turned to see the mortal maiden walking among the trees near the great doors. The melody she sung was spun from a terrible sorrow; though sung softly, immense strength was used in its conjuring. In her he saw a spirit that was near defeat and riddled in hopelessness. _It does not bode well for Legolas to have dark and grave thoughts for they will only attract evil towards this place,_ Glorfindel thought. _Legolas cannot survive more darkness._ Glorfindel watched the strange mortal woman drift aimlessly amongst the treesand her spirit so alone. Though other elves were powerless to render the mortal aid in such darkness Glorfindel was no mere elf. With his mind made up, Glorfindel approached the strange maiden, hoping that he could somehow quell the darkness that choked on her spirit.

 

)()()()(

 

Luzen watched as the death pale body of Legolas was brought into the healing rooms. _I have brought tragedy upon the moon!_ Luzen chided herself.She clutched her stomach feeling the bile rise up.  She had dreamt of a story that was not to be told, that should not have been told in summer’s time for the fish have not yet left to make the young of their own.  But she had called on fish woman, making her come at the time she should have been playing with the moon on the swift currents of the great river.  Now those that relished in the silver light of night were covered in the blood of a cycle broken, and only she, Luzen was to blame.

 

Tears ran swiftly down her face as she remembered her pale moon, a teller of stories and how he gave hope to those who had seen the passing of few winters. She had to leave the caves that felt they were falling down upon her and find the freedom only the sun could grant her. Luzen ran through the doors towards the trees outside the King’s great halls.  It seemed to her not a soul took notice of her.  It was better that way, she thought.

 

And now as Luzen walked among the trees she remembered how she had listened quietly and intently to Legolas’ voice as he shared tales with the younger elves during the feast that now seemed an age away.  And in that moment she realized that despite such semblance of safety, the leaf people were in imminent danger from a severe darkness that threatened to destroy their very way of life.  This she understood too well.  She had ventured out despite her embarrassment pulled by her growing fascination with Legolas, and so she found herself sitting quietly, a short distance from Legolas and the imposing Glorfindel who frankly frightened Luzen.

 

_They stay to fight, despite the fact they may loose all they have,_ Luzen thought to herself, _and yet I run from my own battles.  I run from the memory of my peoples._ Luzen looked upon her leaf people with new love and great admiration.  _Their enemy stands near to them, and they will die to defend their land.  I too died, and now I am here, lost in this nether world, but do I want to find my way?_ Luzen struggled finding her way back to herself. The memory bothered the mortal woman; she felt the hole in her spirit.  She began to sing a song to fill the void, to harness her stories, and fill herself with life, a life she could not run from.  She sang to bring back the balance she had so foolishly toyed with. She sang for her pale moon, praying that she had hope left somewhere in her. But instead of balance her voice tore open the fabric of time, so immense and heavy was the grief that wove together the tone of her voice.

 

Luzen was startled out of her melancholy reverie by the imposing elf approaching her. She could not help and gasp at his beauty.  A peaceful light emanated from his very being, but his light was more imposing, more fiery than that of her pale moon, a being from afar unlike her Ani whose grace was like that of a tree, strong and ancient.  Where Legolas was a spirit of silver, this lord was a spirit of gold, like fire.

 

Glorfindel felt for Luzen, the mortal maiden. She seemed but a lost child, here in his lands. Her face was open to him. She did not hide the awe that overtook her as she looked upon him. Upon reaching the stone still mortal, Glorfindel beckoned her to sit in company of the mighty beeches that surrounded the hill. Luzen felt her body do as he asked, even though she could not put two thoughts together in that moment. He knelt besides her, and took her hands in his. Luzen felt a strange warmth fill her being. At the edges of her mind the darkness that drowned her mixed with light. Luzen took a deep breath as if she had been saved from drowning.

“Young one, why not share your woes.  A heart unburdened is better than a heart full of sorrow,” Glorfindel gently urged, allowing his gentle, warm essence to fill the young woman with ease, with peace, to create space for trust to take root in her heart. Glorfindel continued, “Tell me your story; tell me what troubles your heart.  I know so little of where you come from.  Maybe remembering this will let you smile a bit.”

 

A surge of strength poured through the mortal woman, and with it she was able to conjure the fortitude to do as the golden lord asked.  Luzen looked out towards the Western horizon, as if being called by lands that lay beyond it. She began to speak in whispers, her voice falling like a gentle waterfall conjured out of mists. She shared with him then a tale kept in her heart.  “I have my ghosts, and they stand with me at the precipice, as I look down towards the darkness below me, and now I have thrown _Pamuya,_ my silver water moon into the unknown.”

 

“Pamuya,” Glorfindel questioned, not being familiar with the strange name.

 

“Legolas, I have brought Legolas to death.”

 

Glorfindel raised his eyebrows in surprise.  He gently kissed Luzen’s hands, reassuring her that she could tell this story. “What strange fate has led you to this decision?”

 

Luzen shuttered, understanding that there was no hiding.  She would have to reveal herself to this man, now the Sun. “I must start from the beginning,” and with a deep breath she began to tell her story. “Let me tell you of the lands that gave birth to me.  From a place over there,” Luzen pointed towards the West, “we came up from the underworlds, and our creation was onto earth, from the earth, through the opening in the earth we tasted our first sight of sky. That is the center of me, the center of my people.  From this center the four winds were thrown out and strengthened, kept in balance by the four directions. Our ceremonies and songs remember and renew this life, this origin for it is ever present, and we return always to the center in all our words, in all our thoughts, all our actions, always towards our center, where the Chíhéne were born unto this world. I am of the Red Pain People, and we share our stories, and live always near our center of origin, near the mountains, our sacred spaces. Time can travel on, but always the origin and the center remains, and we dance and sing, keeping balance with the world, assuring the winds that flow in the four directions are sturdy and constant. And the stories are shared only upon that time where sun and moon allow, and the elders make sure it is so, for we come to know the world through their stories and what the earth may reveal.” [1]

 

Her voice grew more distressed, and her eyes seemed to sink into her past. “Yet our ways, our knowledge is illicit, dangerous, and they come with crosses and words, sprinkling water on our skins hoping to drown out our stories, but these stories cannot be washed away. How do you erase creation? You cannot, and we flee, into our center, into the mountains that held us in their womb, and into the center of our heart we take the songs, the dances, and under cover of night we bring them forth, honoring the way of our grandfathers.  Always we put them back in our heart, and we walk forth with blank faces, and serpentine words.

 

But walking was not enough, it caused us too many dead, and so we ran, and galloped from our mother with fierce cries, throwing our prayers to the four winds. Their fire was too strong; it burnt us down, until we were taken from our sacred lands, taken from the lands that give us breath that whispers life into our souls, taken to far away lands, told never to return to our center.  But I would not be corralled like a goat, so I ran with many of the young, those who were too old stayed behind, standing on the tips of their fingernails, waiting, waiting. 

 

And I danced, danced to bring back the grandfathers, danced to return to the lands that gave birth to me.  It was as if man forgot to live the path of peace, and the world consumed itself. I found myself in this strange land.  And I do not see my mountains. I do not see the center, and so I sing to keep my words and thoughts from crumbling inside.  I sing to remember, not to forget the ways of the Creator, but I fear that I have shattered the balance for I conjured a story when the moon should have been walking closer to the land- but now I walk alone, my grandfathers are lost to me; and the stories, their power I have unleashed unwittingly.”

 

Luzen paused, the words that tumbled out of her came to an end. She had said her part. She felt lighter for it, but the guilt of her dream lover and her earthen lover caused her great stress. She felt the great lord’s eyes upon her, look through her, and understand the things that made her human, so unlike him. She was sure that he knew the shame she still held.

 

Glorfindel did not speak. His eyes searched the mortal woman.  For a moment it appeared as if the wind was scattering her very being as if it was made of sand, and the aged and wise lord sighed sadly, thinking to himself, _She is a lost spirit, and if she does not find her way back towards the halls of her fathers, this mortal spirit will be doomed to wander, always in search of her center._ But of all Elves, save maybe Galadriel, only Glorfindel could see this. His time in Mandos’ care gifted him sight at times that would bear the path that bore the living towards death, and this soul was neither living nor dead, strange indeed.

 

Glorfindel finally broke his silence. “Shame is a terrible burden for a mortal life,” Glorfindel shared. Rising before the mortal maiden, he offered his arm to Luzen, who stood and wrapped her arm through the arm offered by the tall elf. Quietly they walked through the trees, the atmosphere still, as if the trees were holding their breath, waiting to hear about the well being of Legolas. The two made their way to the middle of the bridge, the Forest River, swiftly running along below. Glorfindel spoke again, “It seems strange that shame cannot be outlived, understood for what it is: a mistake, a bad decision, or what seems to be the most common reason for it-a misunderstanding.”

 

Luzen’s hand ached with the pain from where she pierced it. It seemed her shame oozed from the wound.

 

Noticing Luzen’s injury, Glorfindel wrapped his hands around her hand, Luzen’s own hand dwarfed by the elf lord’s mighty hands. He sang a healing song, a song that threaded the pieces of her together again, a simple task for a simple wound, but in so doing, Glorfindel heard her inner voice, her shame for loving Ani while finding Legolas strangely invigorating.

 

Luzen startled at the sound of the elf laughing, a golden laugh like a breeze playing with the leaves of trees. Surprised she looked up to see Glorfindel looking down on her with a tenderness she remembered from her own father. She felt his mind in her own, but rather than be startled and scared, she felt his words fill her with forgiveness. Something she had not been able to do for herself. Tears welled up in her eyes. It seemed too long since she felt comforted in this way.

 

“There is no shame in desire, no shame in what we experience, here and here,” Glorfindel shared silently, touching his heart and forehead. Watching Luzen’s expressive eyes light up reassured Glorfindel that his intuition was correct. “While you have boundaries that define your world, remember that these same boundaries are mere veils in my world, the place you find yourself. You have been caught up in the currents of Song that weave the story of our time, and we sing the song into being. Your dreams and the waking world are part of the same melody. Neither is an evil, but your love for young Ani is not sullied. Let him help you.”

 

Glorfindel placed a chaste kiss on her forehead. Luzen would have much to consider. While the darkness was lifted from her, it would certainly return. Such was the nature of Shadow. And still, Glorfindel returned to his initial thoughts: it would not do well for Legolas to have this untethered spirit near by. Shadow would find this song. Though Glorfindel was a powerful being. There was only one elf that had what Luzen needed.

 

 

 

 

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] This is not a real creation story of any tribe; rather an amalgamation of stories so as to not share aspects of these stories that are not meant to be shared.


	26. Star and Elf

** Creation Song of Ilúvatar **

 

**Chapter 26 Star and Elf**

Thranduil sat by Legolas, holding his son’s hands. Legolas’ life was held on by the most delicate of threads, a thread that needed tending, otherwise it might fray and release Legolas to the other side. With his thumb Thranduil passed over Legolas’ callused fingertips. They had recently been filed down, a task common to archers. Oh the irony, Thranduil sighed, suppressing a sob. He could not remember the last time he had held his son’s hands.  That something so intimate that had been a common expression of love in infancy and childhood was something he might not be able to do again was more than he could bear.

 

Thranduil closed his eyes, keeping back the tears that threatened to run. He held on to his son’s hands feeling for the hint of life that coursed in his veins, the slight feel of Legolas’ heartbeat. One small revelation brought him small joy: that Legolas had found love. Dineth was allowed leave from her duties to come and see Legolas. She too was a warrior of the Wood, a young Silvan from the outer settlements. Her lineage was unmingled with those of the Sindar or other elves that had journeyed. This brought Thranduil a bit of solace. Legolas’ love for one such as Dineth would tie him to their home, less a danger to fall ill to the Unquiet of Ulmo that betrayed those that began the Great Journey. He allowed himself these moments of hope. Thranduil needed them, needed to think of Legolas’ future, unwilling to allow Shadow to claim his hope. But such was the need of the Wood that Dineth had to return to protect her home. These were dark times.

 

Thranduil turned to see the approaching figure of Elrohir. Elladan and Elrohir and been taking turns tending to Legolas. It was fortunate the sons’ of Elrond were in the Wood for Thranduil did not believe he would have survived otherwise. Thranduil also understood that Legolas might not have come back to him still alive if it were not for the presence of Glorfindel when they were attacked. Luck, fortune, whatever it was, Glorfindel’s presence meant that Legolas was not taken by Shadow then, and he would not be taken now, Thranduil resolved.

 

“I don’t sense any improvement,” Thranduil quietly spoke to the figure that now stood on Legolas’ other side.

 

Elrohir placed his hand upon Legolas’ brow, his head bent close to Legolas. “None yet,” Elrohir shook his head, “though it is the best I could hope for.”

 

Thranduil nodded his head in understanding. It was the best they could hope for. Legolas was not worsening and that mattered.

 

“Ada,” a voice behind Thranduil spoke. “You must rest.”

 

Thranduil did not turn to face his eldest son. “I can rest here,” Thranduil replied, focusing his energy on Legolas.

 

“Then rest father, for you need your spirit to be strong to help Legolas,” Laurenor affirmed. “Let me sit with him for now. Lie next to him if you must,” Laurenor gently instructed his father.

 

“Yes Thranduil, you must rest,” Elrohir murmured, his focus on Legolas.

 

Thranduil mumbled in agreement, taking his place next to his son. Elrohir came around to Thranduil and whispered words only Thranduil could here. The Woodland King’s eyes were soon closed. Laurenor took Thranduil’s place next to Legolas, holding his hand, remembering the last time they shared time together in the hot springs remembering their mother. Laurenor’s mother was not far from everyone’s thoughts. Thranduil’s family could not withstand another loss, not Legolas, not any of them, though they knew that many had lost more than one and still the Silvan’s marched on, found joy. This was strange to outsiders, strange to elves not of this place, for those other of the First Born, their grief would consume them, but not so here, _not the Wood_ , Laurenor reminded himself.

 

 

)()()()()()(

 

Turwen, master trainer of Thranduil’s forces and warrior for her people, for her home, walked aimlessly through the vast network of hallways that connected the different rooms of the cavernous keep. Her heart could bear no more. She felt it would break open if she allowed herself to cry. Legolas was on the edge of death. Faelon…Oh Faelon, her body shuddered. Laurenor had quietly shared the news of his death with her. The only solace she could find was that he had died in Legolas’ arms, her brave Faelon. Now she cursed herself for keeping her heart closed to him, though her reasons for it came to be, Turwen cursed her actions for would it not have been better to have shared her heart with him? She knew his heart was given to her, but stupidly, she believed it wiser not to encourage him. She had seen the pain it caused those around her when lovers were ripped from one another by death. But it mattered not. Her heart was still broken, her soul shattered, but she was not the only one. It was not the only time death touched her so closely.

 

Faelon’s parents were so heartbroken, she hadn’t the heart to go see them. Turwen could not see them yet, see the same look in their eyes that she saw in her parents’ eyes when the death of her older sister came to their door, a similar story. At least Faelon’s body had been burned, whereas her sister’s…Turwen curled over, unable to walk, her body dry heaving. It was too much, reliving her sister’s death. But they survived it. The Wood kept going. In this moment Turwen did not want to go on. She heard an elf approach her, a hand placed gently on her back, soothing words whispered into her ear. Her body relaxed and she fell into the elf’s arms.

 

Rainiel and Turwen sat on the floor, their backs perched against the stonewall of the small hallway. After a moment, Rainiel broke her supportive silence. “Come with me outside where our grief can release to the trees.” Turwen nodded her head in agreement, slowly gathering herself to stand. The two made their way out the gates and into the day that was quickly becoming night.

 

Unknown to Rainiel, her son had only moments emerged from the Keep and out into the light. Though he kept vigil by Legolas’ side, he hadn’t forgotten there was another who would need his aid. Aníralendon felt compelled to cross the bridge and walk amongst the dense thicket of trees that bordered the river. There amongst the trees he spotted Araswen, the deer maiden, who had a strange look about her. The Shadow had weighed heavy on her. It affected mortals so much more, so differently.

 

“Luzen,”Aní quietly called out.

 

Luzen heard the familiar deep voice call her name. She lifted her eyes to see Aní walking towards her. His tired eyes revealed that he too had not slept, keeping watch by Legolas’ side; yet here he was. She couldn’t help but smile at the approaching figure. The guilt and shame she felt earlier, though not gone, were eased by the words of Glorfindel

 

Aní felt a comfort wash over him when Luzen smiled, a stirring of his heart. Of course, even in the darkest of times, love was medicine. Stopping before Luzen he placed the back of his hand on her cheek to feel her warmth, her mortal fire. Without thinking he leaned over and kissed her. This is what he needed, some respite, something outside of him. Luzen returned the kiss. Theirs was an uncomplicated thing. In days of bliss it would have been an easy romance, but these were not blissful times. Though Aní also understood that in better days, his family would not easily accept a relationship with a mortal, and less one with an outsider with such strange origins. Such a relationship would only portend heartbreak, but what did he care of that now? He would take whatever joy and light he could find and rejoice in that, for tomorrow he might die, tomorrow, Luzen might vanish like she appeared.

“Come,” Aní whispered to Luzen, taking her deeper into the forest. Luzen followed. Though she was confused at how sorrow, anguish, and loneliness could keep company with her love for Aní and her strange and otherworldly desire for Legolas, she understood that her joy was like a stolen feeling. She would allow it for herself in this moment. And Legolas? Had she truly been the cause of Legolas’ fall? She had been right about something, but had misjudged her knowledge. Legolas’ fall, she understood now thanks to Glorfindel’s wisdom, was precipitated by something beyond her. Yet she had a role to play somehow. This much the powerful elf had allowed her to understand, but beyond that she could not see.

 

The two, Aní and Luzen, walked through dense thicket that opened up into a small meadow filled with wild flowers. “Here,” Aní quietly announced, “here we shall carve out some joy in these dark times. Luzen squeezed Aní’s hand in understanding. She looked up to find him looking down at her, his hair unbound, shadowing his handsome face. “I will honor you Aní,” Luzen whispered, “honor us and be with you here, though what may come next I do not know.”

 

Aní knelt before Luzen, grabbing her hands to bring her down to him. “No we do not, but what I can give, what I can share with you, is something I do know,” he replied unclasping the bodice of Luzen’s dress. Luzen took hold of the edges of Aní’s tunic, removing it. He was beauty and she desired him. Gently she allowed her fingers to trace over his torso, causing him to flinch, so charged was the energy between the two. Lips collided and hands undid garments until two bodies lay upon a bed of flowers, filling each other, finding the depths of each other’s limits.

 

As their bodies descended from passion, the two laid in each other’s arms, the sun setting somewhere behind the trees. Aní gathered Luzen in his arms, keeping her warm. “You are leaving,” Aní said candidly. Luzen lost herself in his searching eyes, eyes she would never forget. “Yes,” Luzen replied, “I think my time here is ending.” Dread began to rise within her. She did not want to be alone, not again! Oh how the smallest of fears terrorized her.

 

“I sense it too,” Aní continued, understanding the rising fear in Luzen. “I do not know how, but I feel the threads of your being slipping between my hands,” Aní offered, fear also threatening him, but he was wiser than that fear. “Luzen, look at me,” Aní whispered, willing Luzen to hold on and not succumb yet to the fear she had to dive into. Aní called her back, covering her with his body, his soft lips hovering over hers. Moments passed into hours as the lovers found themselves called back into one another. There was desperation now, a knowing that beyond the next sunrise theirs, their love, would be like a memory.

 

Luzen trembled underneath Aní’s weight, the night air catching the sweat on her body. Aní covered her with his tunic. He felt the dread that was taking hold in her heart. “You must meet your fear head on Luzen.” She still shivered but it was not because she was chilled. This was it. Whatever lay ahead of her was her way back, back to the original pain, to what she ran from. “Be at peace my Araswen,” Aní soothed. “You will meet whatever may come with bravery, but do not forget love. Do not forget that you carry my love. That means something.”

 

Luzen sobbed, wrapping herself more tightly around Aní. It did mean something, this love. “And I have found love in you. I love you Aní,” Luzen whispered, her declaration of love like a revelation. She loved him. She loved them all, her leaf people, but Aní held her heart. And Legolas? Luzen was unsure but a small thought began to take hold in her heart. Maybe she was meant to go to Legolas as she crossed back to her world. Here she found herself wrapped in the warmth of her earthen star, but somehow the moon, the night sky would always call her back.

 

Of course, _Êl a Edhel_ , Star and Elf, Luzen remembered the song sung by Legolas and his siblings so many nights ago. All this time she believed Aní was her earthen start, but no, it was she who was the star descended for a time, coaxed to this place by a strange song. She sang the first verse of the song softly to Aní and she witnessed his face collapse into sorrow. Of course he too understood, and together they quietly sang _Êl a Edhel_ to each other:

 

_“In the Greenwood's southern reaches_

_Stands a grove of golden beeches._

_The Enchanted River's waters_

_Flow beside these woodland daughters._

_Violet twilight there entrances;_

_Wind unfurls the golden branches._

_Elves sing underneath the eaves_

_Of Varda's stars and Arda's leaves._

_~~~_

_Oft a minstrel came, a Silvan,_

_Singing to the trees in Elven_

_Ann-thennath of stars above._

_A Star heard, and fell, in love,_

_To Middle-earth. "Night is falling!_

_\- Can you feel my feä calling?_

_Do you feel the fiery yearning?_

_Do you see my star heart burning?"_

_~~~_

_Now the lonely beeches linger,_

_Pining for their Silvan singer._

_Elves and Stars are of a kind_

_Born to twilight, born to shine._

_Elf and Star are now, forever,_

_High above the trees, together._

_Elven-Star now shine as one,_

_East of the Moon, West of the Sun.” [1]_

 

 

)()()()(

 

It seemed the whole of the Great Wood was filled with a melancholy music. Glorfindel sat at the edge of a gathering, a large fire roared, but its spirit could not embolden the spirits around it. So the fire danced on, knowing that on this night it only provided warmth. The songs of the musicians rang true and sorrowful, yet full of a seductive lure.  The musician’s fingers ran nimbly over the lute-like instrument [2]. The music celebrated life, love, loss and tragedy, each chord being strummed, breathing life to the little documented life of Silvan society.  The heart of the music was pulsating forth from the hands of the musician that tapped on a hollowed gourd that had leather stretched over its hollow mouth. The musician’s hands would venture into the hollowed out end, changing the sound that beat forth from the drum. The music was haunting, beautiful, full of life, and the dancers swayed to the rhythmic incantations of the musicians. They danced, holding each other tightly, afraid that if they let go, they too would loose their precious hold on life.  The previous days had held much loss and sorrow, scenes that the Silvan folk were too familiar with.

 

The strings of the lute reverberated with the purposeful strumming of its handler, eliciting a strange and beautiful music.  The voices of the minstrels were heavy with sorrow, their melody evocative but soft and beautiful as only the voices of the wood folk could be. They sang of life under Shadow, and they yearned for a time when all was green and lives could be fulfilled; where little greenleafs could run freely without worry and pain. Such was the way of the wood elf, to be immortal yet caught in the most fragile of webs, where life could be swept away in a single instant.  It is said the these are a simple folk, unlearned in the ways of the wise, but for those who dare look closer it is indeed a wise and wondrous people they have before them.  For they do not dwell in the desires of power and dominance but in the beauty of the trees and the simple truth of love.

 

In this moment Glorfindel felt tears begin to overwhelm him. Legolas, oh Legolas, what could he do but weep for the life of a loved one, one of the few left who maintained his innocence and awe of the world? Glorfindel felt his age. He was not the only one. Across the fire sat Galuiel who was looking into the heart of the fire, watching the tendrils weave a pattern of light and warmth. Glorfindel knew his melancholy had a companion. He glanced across the clearing. Her dark hair caught the light of the fire, the same fire that cast shadows upon her face. Galuiel would return with him to Imladris, as would Elueth. They would sail soon after. Theirs, Galuiel’s and Glorfindel’s, was a story of love that was told through their peoples’ Doom. He heard Galuiel’s voice in his mind. _It seems we are not meant to be together here, but perchance a different story will unfold across the Sundering Seas?_

Glorfindel responded, his eyes fixed on her across the fire, _Perhaps, but I don’t like leaving my life to chance, so I say this, though you return with me to Imladris only to leave again, I will eventually go West and find you there. Doom or not, I will not be parted from you._

_Even if much time stands between us?_ Galuiel’s thoughts changed into words in Glorfindel’s mind.

 

_Even if time stands between us, as it always has, but I am patient,_ he replied. Glorfindel devoured Galuiel with his eyes, though she held his gaze, she bowed her head in understanding. That was all that was needed between them. Indeed it was a love that was born in the first age and so it was honest and patient, an enduring type of thing that Doom shaped. Glorfindel stood and sat next to Galuiel. Together they communed through the dark night, in vigil for those that had passed on and those that hovered at the edge of the veil between the living and the dead.

 

)()()()(

 

Aní awoke the next morning, his arms empty. Luzen’s clothes lay next to him, but he did not go searching for her. She was gone. In his dreams, from far away, he felt her dissipate, melt into him. In his hands he held a lock of her dark hair, braided and knotted. This he tucked into a pocket to keep near him. Breathing in the cool morning air, though his heart was heavy he sensed a lightness to it. “Legolas,” he cried out, “Legolas!”

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [1] Versus from the song sung by Legolas and company in chapter 6, Êl a Edhel. The song verses were entirely composed by Chathol-linn, a great poet indeed. I could not have put this song idea to verse as she has so eloquently accomplished. My hats off to you Chathol-linn, an elven minstrel in human disguise! 
> 
>  
> 
> [2]I am taking liberties in introducing the lute into Silvan society, but I do it in the spirit of Tolkien. He after all introduced corn and tobacco into Middle-Earth, and we all know corn was unknown in Europe until after contact with the Americas where it is from. The lute, or Ud was brought into Spain in the early 8th century by the Moors/North Africans and probably more generally into Europe with the advent of the Crusades. The Ud was adapted by Europeans, strings were added and the instrument morphed into the Lute.


	27. Blue Birds

**Chapter 27: Blue Birds**

 

 

Legolas was now caught in the unconscious world of vision as his body struggled to regain control over the poison that coursed through his body. As he walked further into the vastness of space he felt his body begin to rise and fall more rhythmically with each breath. He felt song come from afar and carry his breath to the most vivid places of life, sustaining him, nurturing him. The act of Elven healing was upon him, a great mystery to mortal kind. On his meandering journey through this world of visions he came upon the mortal maiden who was watching her reflection in a pool of silver water.

 

“Luzen,” Legolas called softly. 

 

The woman turned to look at Legolas and gasped, “How could it be Pamuya? You have passed into the world of spirits!”

 

“Yes, Lenmana, but this world of spirits does not hold me as it holds a mortal body. In this place I am safe to heal and receive the songs of the Eldar which will lead me back to life in my Greenwood.”

 

Legolas noticed the fear reflected in the young mortal’s eyes. “What do you fear,” he asked the woman.

 

“I fear what I know not,” she paused, her voice trembling, “I fear being alone, with nothing but dirt around me, and yet I should fear not.”

 

“Why?” Legolas inquired, “why should you not fear?”

 

Luzen was drawn to the beauty of her water moon, and felt a peace that for once allowed her to speak with patience, “Because, the earth that holds me is not to blame, nor to be feared.  I am made of these things, but I fear them.  Do you not see? I have forgotten the stories.  I have lost them and I fear death.  I fear the unknown, and all I see is my body, torn, laying upon a pile of dirt which I claim as mine.”

 

Legolas sighed: the unknown fate of Men.  He could not fathom this uncertainty, to travel beyond the confines of this world to a place nameless, but deep within he knew that there was a destination, a thing to be, to become, that this life was but a journey for the _Edain,_ cursed and at once born the gift of mortality.

 

She waited for an answer from her earthen moon but he simply looked into her eyes. Tears welled in her eyes as she felt the immensity of fear overcome her again.

 

Legolas reached out and gently placed his hand on Luzen’s cheek, “It is not for me to grant you faith.  That is a journey only you can take.”

 

“I do not know if I can do this.  I have lost so many, so many,” she whispered, tears running down her cheeks.

 

“And this is a pain I share with you albeit unwittingly,” Legolas spoke, sorrow clouding his piercing gaze. “It is such that during these times we walk the sundering of lives from our sides is a like a raging river we must hold forth against. But even in sadness there is hope. Their deaths have not been in vain,” Legolas spoke, his voice like a sweet and sad melody.

 

But the young mortal had not the heart to hope for fear guided her heart and a rage overtook her heart.  “My peoples’ deaths have been utterly for nothing.  We die not only once but twice.  You speak of the sundering of lives, I speak of the sundering of the only way I have ever known how to understand my world,” Luzen shouted, slapping Legolas’ hand away. “How can I even approach to understand myself when the lands of my birth are stripped from me?” Luzen cried out, full of mortal rage that has lost the guidance it once had.

 

Legolas looked down.  He could do nothing to make the pain that ate her go away.  He could not grant her the faith she had seemingly lost. 

 

Then Luzen saw it as Legolas eyes looked into her, like a thunderstorm covering the mesas of her desert with the power and ferocity of nature, his eyes stormed and the ages of his life came crashing down upon her.

 

“Forgive me Legolas,” Luzen cried like a lost child, “I know not my path. I, I only know how to be a part of something, not alone.  It is not the way I have come to understand this world, not on my own.  My faith, my person has always been guided by those who have come before me.  The stories, the grandfathers, our lands, they contain the entirety of me.  Oh I feel so lost without them,” the young mortal woman cried out, collapsing into Legolas arms.

 

“ _So young_ ,” Legolas thought, as he gently embraced Luzen. “It is these stories you must keep to child. It is these stories you must always remember,” he gently admonished.

 

“My grandmother told me that my fate was tied to the moon and that I would always be drawn to it and here I have found you, but I know not what to do. How do you dare claim the moon as your own?”

 

“You do not,” Legolas whispered, his voice like a gentle breeze, soothing the mortal’s aching soul, “you simply must trust that it will always be there.”

 

“No matter what happens,” Luzen questioned like a young child eagerly seeking reassurance from a parent.

 

“If the sun were to burn without setting over the West, the moon would be there cloaked in the rays of light, but there it would remain to serve as a reminder there is always hope,” Legolas answered, his voice running like a gentle river on a summer’s night. Legolas continued, “Do not forget to love, to love all that is in you, for in remembering this, you remember them.  Do not forget to love, to love one another, and you will understand that all you thought was lost has survived.  And you have learned to survive, to endure, but most of all you must not forget to love.” Legolas gently reminded the mortal maiden.

 

“I do,” Luzen replied, “I love the moon and the comfort it brings me. I love the moon for it is ever coming to grace me with its beauty.  In the moon I find love, and I am not afraid.”

 

“Yes, you are a child of the moon,” Legolas agreed, “but do not forget that with the sun you find your brilliance.”

 

“But my heart, my heart cannot contain the love for the sun and the moon!”

 

“Ah child, but love, love is the largest of all we have in life. It is so large that all the souls that walk these lands can be lost in its vastness.  No, love, it is larger than life itself.  Remember how to love, and in this you will find your stories. You will find that your peoples, they are not lost, they have always been with you,” Legolas ageless voice murmured softly.  “Remember love, remember him, and you will find your path returns to your lands, to your center, for it is what you love, where your love is born.”

 

And she walked with love, with Aní’s love, away from Legolas towards her center.

 

As she walked away Legolas whispered, “and we crumble like the dried petals of a summer’s flower succumbing to the chill of fall.  Everything we once held dear is now adrift like the ashes of a lover taken from our side too soon… Follow the song of the blue bird.“

 

Legolas walked alone amongst the trees.  Amongst them he saw the figure of his mother. He began to run to her, but she held her arm up bidding him to stop. She gifted him the most beautiful smile. Legolas was overwhelmed with emotion. With all his heart he wanted to run to her but he found himself unable to move. “No,” she whispered. “Take back my love. Seek love in those different than you my son.” And she was gone. In the background Legolas heard a flock of birds take flight. He would return home now.

 

)()()()()

 

Luzen awoke from her slumber to hear the chirping of birds in the trees. No longer was she held in her love’s arms. She looked towards the birds and in the trees she saw a flock of strange blue birds that sang a familiar song. The light in the sky was a strange hue of blue and as Luzen turned to look towards the sun she saw the moon resting in the sky next to the sun, and together they shone a luminous light, a light that blinded her to the light of solitary star that rose on the horizon. It was as if these birds that sang their familiar song only sang for this luminous light, which shone once in the lifetime of a People.

 

Luzen looked around and saw a familiar landscape but it was not completely her own. Her horse lay dead next to her and she saw figures in blue uniforms gathering those who still lived, tying their hands together, and marching them ahead towards the East. The blue uniformed men had not noticed her and Luzen again looked up towards the sky and saw the sun and moon, but there, just beyond the horizon was a star that seemed to bloom from the earth. She felt a great peace. “I understand now. I do not fear that which was my home. I shall return to my center, to the lands that gave birth to me, even if I cannot take my body, my spirit shall return there.” She took her life in that moment. And she lived.

 

Luzen stood up and walked towards the blue birds that sang in the trees that were strangely out of place in the desert. The blue birds called to Luzen with their song, and they flew West, beckoning her to follow. And Luzen followed soaring in the sky under the pale and strange luminosity of sun and moon.

 

“ _Night is falling! Can you feel my feä calling?_ Luzen sang softly, “I return to the place where your darkness gave me birth, _East of the Moon, West of the Sun!_ ” [1]

 

)()()()()(

 

It had been two days since Legolas had regained consciousness. He was propped up in his bed sipping a hot tea filled with fragrant honey. Aní sat on the bed next to him.

 

“Legolas, I have something to tell you,” Aní hesitated, fearing that the news might not be well received by Legolas, but more than anything he felt an overwhelming desire to unburden his heart.

 

“What is it Aní?” Legolas urged, seeing the hesitation on Aní’s part.

 

“It is the mortal maiden, she is gone,” Aní revealed, his voice breaking with emotion.

 

“I know,” Legolas answered, reaching up to wipe away tears from his nephew’s cheek. Legolas, knowing Aní’s heart needed mending, continued, “I was there when she left.” Legolas looked into Aní’s eyes, knowing he would understand this tale. “In my time of unconscious wake, I came upon her as she neared her journey’s end her in our lands.”

 

Aní’s face contorted as he tried to hold back his heartbreak. “She suffered didn’t she Legolas?”

 

“She did,” Legolas replied, “but she also knew great joy.” Legolas could not hold back his own tears. “Aní, look at me,” Legolas commanded the younger elf who had laid his head on Legolas. “I do not know why or how, but somehow Araswen came here because of Nana.”

 

“What?” Aní’s voice cracked in disbelief.

 

“I saw her Aní, I saw Nana on the other side,” Legolas revealed, hoping this part of the story of Araswen, Luzen, could bring hope to Aní.

 

“Truly?” Aní’s voice questioned, his voice filling with life. Somehow it seemed a puzzle was coming into place. Legolas’ words felt weighty, felt true, felt good.

 

“I cannot tell you how I know this, but I believe it to be true: that somehow Nana reached out to us and someone else out there reached out to Luzen and well, the story that we have lived came to be.” Legolas did not understand the tale, but he knew that it ultimately needed no understanding. The veil between the living and the dead was a fine one and those things that crossed between the gossamer line took breath from a different element, held a strange and indeterminate nature that the living could only intuit.

 

Though Legolas had revealed this for the first time and only relied on faith, it was enough for Aní, though for Aní, the story of him and Luzen didn’t feel quite finished. The two Elves looked towards the West, and Legolas whispered the sad tale of Luzen into the wind:

 

_“They didn’t fit any more, they didn’t fit in her head,_

_the blue birds in [her] head_

_That was how one mid-day of strange luminosity,_

_She opened them a tragic orifice of escape_

_and the blue birds they took her life_

_They left, but when they left,_

_they also took her life” [2]_

 

)()()()(

 

 

~*~*~ The End *~*~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There will be a concluding epilogue 
> 
> [1] Versus from the song sung by Legolas and company in chapter 6, Êl a Edhel.
> 
> [2] Words and song by Atahualpa Yupanqui for Violeta Parra.


End file.
